


Hogwarts Elite

by Sharraus



Series: Harbinger [1]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Awkwardness, Children being children, Dating, Gen, Good Slytherins, Gryffindor Harry Potter, Rating May Change, Regulus Black Lives, Slytherin Harry Potter, Students being students, The Ministry sucks, children being adults, dursleys are horrible, finally some competent adults, houses working together, is Voldemort back?, it always does, longbottoms are healing too, not the ministry, percy is not an ass, poc characters, prophet lies, some people are just assholes, students not being stupid, the sorting hat is a piece of shit, the weasley twins can be horrible, who knows - Freeform
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-05-25
Updated: 2021-02-08
Packaged: 2021-03-03 03:00:08
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 20
Words: 114,780
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24377626
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sharraus/pseuds/Sharraus
Summary: The attack on the Grimmauld place during summer before Harry´s fifth year sets precedence for that school year. Returning to school as an attention-seeking lunatic, Harry has to deal with enough already. Long forgotten alliances, Slytherin scheming, dead people coming alive and a mysterious figure lurking in the background are not what he wanted from his OWLs year.
Relationships: Hannah Abbott/Susan Bones, Hermione Granger/Ron Weasley, Remus Lupin/Nymphadora Tonks, Sirius Black/Remus Lupin
Series: Harbinger [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1760170
Comments: 75
Kudos: 158





	1. Traitor at the Grimmauld place

**Author's Note:**

> Watch out for character deaths in this chapter - one on screen, one off.

Harry leaned heavily against the door of the room he shared with Ron and wheezed. He rubbed his left hand, dirty and smelling of shit. 

A loud bang echoed around the house, startled shouts soon following.

“FRED! GEORGE! GET DOWN HERE!” he heard Mrs Weasley yell from the kitchen and he bit back the roar of laughter that threatened to burst out.

He shared a look with Ron, who was lying on his bed, big grin on his face. They waited until the heavy footsteps of the twins rushed past their room onto the lower floors and burst out laughing.

“How many did we hit, what do you think?” Ron asked while gasping for breath.

“Most of the room, by the sound of it,” Harry grinned in response. He jumped up on his bed and kicked his shoes off. He sprawled on it and stuck one of his hands up in the air.

“Like a fucking house cat,” Ron muttered.

“HEY!” Harry threw a pillow in his general direction. From the muffled groan he assumed he hit the mark and laughed. Then the pillow hit him in the stomach. “Ouch.”

He sat up cross-legged. “So? What’s up with your mom?” he asked and tilted his head slightly.

Ron leaned back against the headboard. “The boggart yesterday. She’s… not taking it well,” he sighed.

Harry nodded. He wasn’t unmoved when he walked in to see Ron’s father lying dead on the floor. He was shocked when the boggart turned into him after a while. It was not fun to watch, he was very grateful when Remus dealt with it.

“Good thing Remus was there,” Ron sighed. He stared at the ceiling blankly, obviously reliving the experience. Harry frowned.

“I was thinking, you know,” Ron started.

“Really? You know that’s bad for you, right?” Harry shot at him; a weak attempt to lighten the mood.

Ron threw his pillow at him. “Shut up, Harry.” He scowled when Harry placed it on his lap and leaned against it.

“Anyway,” he rolled his eyes. “mom didn’t...” he trailed off and glanced at the door. “I don’t know if mom's gonna, you know… be okay.”

Harry quickly thought back to how Mrs Weasley behaved that morning. She did look like she’d not slept. Then again no one slept much the past few days.

“I mean. She lived through the last war. And now there’s another one coming,” Ron continued. “What if she just… Snaps?”

Harry gave his friend a contemplative look and moved to sit at the edge of the bed, closer to him. “I’d say it’s a bit too soon to judge that. The war’s not here yet.”

Ron groaned. “Yeah. But that’s just because the minister is being an emu.”

That startled a laugh out of Harry. “Being an emu?” he questioned

Ron turned an interesting shade of pink. “That’s what Hermione said last time,” he mumbled. 

Harry leaned back. “Is that so?” He grinned. “Did she say anything else interesting?”

Ron kicked him in the knee. “Stop that!”

Harry laughed and moved from his reach. “Oh come on! All you need to do is admit that-”

A loud crash came from the floors below, stopping both Harry and Ron in their tracks. They exchanged looks. “What-”

“STUPEFY!”

“EXPELLIARMUS!”

Both Harry and Ron jumped up and rushed to the door. Ron threw them open, only to nearly running into them as they came flying towards him as Sirius ran down the stairs. “Stay in the room,” he ordered over his shoulder.

Harry had no intention of following such command, however. He leaned over the railing to see what’s going on downstairs.

“CRUCIO!” A bright red spell shot through the hallway, hitting a wall near the portrait in which Lady Black was screaming her lungs out.

Harry grabbed his wand out of his pocket and dashed onto the lower floors, almost colliding with Hermione, standing in front of her room. She grabbed him and hissed: “Harry, we can’t go down there.”

“But...” He tore his hand from her grip and watched as Ron crashed into an invisible barrier over the staircase. He winced at the impact.

“Ouch,” Ron groaned. “What the fuck is that?”

Hermione shrugged. “No idea. Sirius threw it up. I think it’s supposed to stop us from going downstairs.”

“You  _ think _ Hermione? Really?” he huffed and kicked the barrier.

Harry rolled his eyes at them and leaned over the railing again. He could see a person in a long black cloak standing in the kitchen door, throwing spells. He scowled and raised his wand.

“Harry no!” Ginny grabbed his forearm. “You can’t use magic.”

Harry opened his mouth to protest, but she cut him off: “Besides, we don’t know who that is. It could be someone from the order.”

Harry dropped his arm and let himself be pulled away from the railing. “So what am I supposed to do? Sit here and wait?” he sneered. It reminded him a lot of Malfoy so he scolded his expression into something else.

Ron hit the invisible wall angrily. “Stupid barrier!”

“Can’t we get rid of it?” Harry turned to Hermione. He thought the battle was dying down; at least the sounds were.

“Fuck this,” Ron cut off anything Hermione was about to say and started climbing over the railing.

“Ron!” Ginny hissed. “Are you crazy?”

Harry quickly looked down and saw an empty hallway. He stopped for a split second, his common sense begging him to not do it. Then he nodded at Ron. “It’s safe.”

“Harry!” the girls called, but Ron already jumped down and Harry followed him.

They sneaked to the kitchen doors, wands in hands. Harry heard two rather loud thuds behind them.

“This is a stupid idea,” Hermione whispered.

“MUDBLOODS! FILTH! SNEAKING LIKE THIEVES IN THE DARK!” roared the portrait.

“Shut up, you old hag,” Harry snapped at her, fearing she’d attract attention to them. Although, he thought, she had been yelling throughout the entire fight, he doubted anyone was paying her any mind at that point.

They looked into the kitchen through the open door. At their feet was a motionless body of the person they saw from upstairs, a shattered white mask nearby.

More bodies were scattered across the floor – it was still dirty from their dung bombs – though, thankfully, Harry couldn’t recognize any.

“Harry,” Remus sighed as he laid his eyes on him. Immediately everyone in the room turned to the door.

Sirius gaped at them in shock. “How… did you get here?” he questioned.

Harry crossed his hands. “What happened?”

“No. I threw up the ward.  _ How  _ did you get down?” Sirius demanded.

“We jumped off the railing,” Hermione hurried to answer before Harry had a chance to even think of anything to say. “What’s going on?”

Mrs Weasley took a shaking breath and readied herself to shut at them, at least that’s what Harry assumed she planned, when a rasping growl echoed around the room: “Avada-”

“EXPELLIARMUS!” Mad-Eye roared before anyone could process what was going on. The spell hit the man crouched in the corner of the room, yanked a wand out of his hand and shattered the white mask hiding his face. The pieces fell to the ground revealing a familiar dirty face.

“Mundungus?” Mr Weasley sputtered; eyes wide. The time seemed to stop as Harry connected the name with the man who left his “guarding duty” when the dementors attacked.

“Fletcher,” Mad-Eye sneered and closed in on the man, pressing his wand into the man’s cheek. “Isn’t this a surprise?”

“Mad-Eye, it’s always such a pleasure.”

“We need to call Dumbledore,” Mr Weasley exclaimed and moved to the fireplace.

Harry felt someone press into his back and stepped to the side slightly, leaving space for Ginny to stand.

“Dung… Why?” stammered Tonks, trailing her wand on him with shaking hand.

“That is a very good question, but I’m more interested in how much,” Mad-Eye growled. “Eh, Fletcher? How much did you tell them?”

“Oh a bit o’ this an’ a bit o’ that.” Harry thought the man didn’t sound exactly sane.

“Don’t play games with me, coward!” Harry could see the tip of Moody’s wand glowing.

“Alastor, please calm down,” Remus entered the conversation from where he was standing over another downed Death Eater.

Harry thought Mad-Eye was going to curse him, but then the fireplace roared, startling everyone in the room.

Professor Dumbledore entered the room, several wands aimed at him. He took in the scene around him until his eyes landed on Fletcher. He looked every bit his age.

“Ah, the old man himself,” Fletcher snarled.

Dumbledore didn’t seem to hear him as he simply took out his wand and – Harry for a second thought he was going to curse the man – summoned his Patronus.

“Find Severus. Tell him to return immediately. Hurry,” he told the phoenix calmly.

The silver creature flew around the room twice, looking confused and then landed on the table. Harry exchanged confused looks with Ron.

“Seems like your little spy’s finally been relieved o’ duty,” Fletcher snickered. “I’m sure you’re happy now Sirius, eh, mate?”

Sirius merely snarled at him, which Harry considered a big step up from the man who’d have murdered in such situation just a few weeks ago. Though he suspected Fletcher being right played a rather big part in it.

“You too Mad-Eye. Don’t tell me you liked the git, we both know you didn’t.”

“Mundungus that is quite-”

Fletcher ruthlessly cut Dumbledore off: “What about you, Harry? Are you-”

“Leave Harry out of this!” Mrs Weasley spat. Harry was very grateful he didn’t have to contemplate  _ that _ question just yet.

“Why would I ever do that? After all the prophecy-”

“Fletcher!”

“Prophecy?” Harry asked, a thousand ideas going through his head. He knew, logically, that it was a bad time to question and the source of the information had been unreliable even before he turned out to be a traitor, but something about that word, about the way he said it drew his attention to it immediately.

“Mundungus-”

“But of course-”

“What prophecy?” 

People started talking over each other, most of them telling Fletcher to shut his mouth. Harry found it surprisingly annoying. Was this just another thing they’re keeping from him?

Then, when Mad-Eye turned to snap at Sirius, Mundungus lunged forwards and grabbed his wand, forgotten on the floor.

“AVADA-” two voices sounded through the room as both Moody and Fletcher chose the same spell.

“Alastor!” Dumbledore bellowed.

“STUPEFY!” roared Sirius.

“-KEDAVRA!” Only Mad-Eye got to finish the spell as Fletcher sagged to the ground under Sirius’ spell.

Harry watched as the familiar green spell connected with the motionless body on the floor. The silence in the room was deafening. Harry was frozen, as was everyone else in the room.

“Harry, if you could leave us,” Dumbledore suggested, seemingly calm. Harry glanced at him once and saw the well-hidden fury behind his eyes and posture.

He nodded and backed out of the room, pulling Ron and Ginny with him, Ginny still in shock. The door slammed shut. Before the privacy wards jumped in place, however, Harry could hear someone yelling – he thought it was Remus, but he wasn’t sure.

“Mudbloods, freaks, in the house of my fathers...” the portrait of Sirius’ mother seemed to have gone back to muttering under her breath. Harry paid her no mind, instead looking over his friends.

Ron was rather pale, but holding his hand around Ginny’s shoulders. Ginny seemed to be in shock, shaking violently. Hermione, for the first time Harry realized she’d never been with him and Ron when their lives were in actual danger. She was white as snow and staring in front of her mindlessly.

“Hermione?” he asked softly. She did not react. He laid his hand on her shoulder. “Hermione,” he called again. Nothing.

He sighed and looked back at Ron. “We should take them up,” he suggested.

Ron nodded. He looked at his sister’s shaking form again and glared at the closed door. 

They slowly guided the girls up the stairs. There they hit the barrier Sirius put up. It worked from the other side just as well.

“Bloody hell,” Ron scowled. “Dinning room then?”

Harry nodded. They returned to the ground floor and entered the other room there. It was still full of the remains of the dung bombs Harry and Ron set off earlier and it  _ stank _ .

“That’s what we get for setting them off,” Ron noted dryly.

Harry hummed in response and helped Hermione sit down on one of the clean chairs. He watched as Ron did the same with Ginny and started talking to her in a hushed voice. Ginny was still shaking but responding. She didn’t look nearly as distressed as Harry had assumed she would be. Then again she did get possessed when she was eleven. Yes, that had to be it.

He noticed Ron shooting Hermione worried looks. He scratched his head. Truth be told, he had no idea how to help her. He sighed.

“Hermione, can you hear me?” he asked. Establish contact, he thought. First, he has to be sure she could hear him.

She, however, failed to react. “Hermione?” Nothing. 

He rubbed the back of his neck. He remembered a movie he saw back at primary school about a bunch of soldiers. He was pretty sure there was a scene where one had to be slapped to get him to react again. He’d really rather not do that though. He sent Ron a hopeless look. Ron shrugged.

Harry frowned. Couldn’t they have sent someone with them? “Hermione!” he called her again. 

He scoffed and threw his hands up. “She’s not reacting.” Ron gave him a distracted look.

Harry sighed and got up. “I’m gonna get someone,” he told Ron and left the room.

He stopped at the door to the kitchen and took a deep breath. He hoped they won’t take their mood out on him. He banged his fist at the door as loudly as he could – just in case they were still busy shouting.

A few moments later the door opened, revealing Remus. He looked Harry over and sighed. “Harry, now is not the-”

“Hermione’s in shock,” Harry interrupted him. “She doesn’t react to anything.” He was hard pushed to not swear at him or anyone else, especially Moody.

Remus blinked at him, obviously forgetting whatever lecture he was about to spout. Harry thought he might just curse the whole lot of them if he could. They actually thought he came to question them on the prophecy or whatever? It wasn’t implausible, he could admit that, but he had a much bigger and much more immediate problem. Like one of his best friends essentially turning into a vegetable.

“Oh, good Merlin,” Moody gritted out frustrated. “Just what we needed.”

“Alastor,” Dumbledore chastised at the same time as Harry snapped: “It’s not her fucking fault.”

“I’ll see what I can do,” Tonks said and got up before anyone could say anything more. She passed around Remus, still standing in the door. 

Harry nodded and led her to the dining room. He heard the door to the kitchen slam shut again. 

Hermione was sitting where he’d left her, her posture slumped, staring at the ground with blind eyes. Harry thought she was shaking a lot more than she was before. 

Tonks approached her cautiously and sat down at the table next to her. She started whispering to her while Harry hovered in the doors, not sure what to do. Ron caught his eye and waved him over.

“Did they say anything?” he asked with a quirked eyebrow.

Harry shook his head. “It doesn’t look like they’ll finish anytime soon too.”

“Do you think you we could get Sirius to remove the barrier?” Ginny questioned in a shaking voice. She seemed to have cried in those… two minutes he had been away.

Harry grimaced. “I don’t think they’ll open the door again. Remus looked ready to curse me. And Mad-Eye was about to blow up.”

Ron scoffed. “Moody already did blow up,” he pointed out.

Harry rolled his eyes. “I meant… more than that. He seemed ready to get up and leave.”

“I’m ready to leave too,” Ginny muttered.

“Which we may have to do,” Ron pointed out. She looked at him confused.

“Well the Death Eaters know about this place now,” Harry explained. “It’s probably not going to be safe to stay here anymore.” He looked at Hermione. “And I honestly don’t think we should, even if it  _ is  _ possible.”

Ron nodded. “Besides, this house sucks anyway. I mean, everything in here is either cursed or unpleasant or both. I’m looking forward to getting out of here.”

Ginny snickered. “Yeah, I suppose you have a point there.”

Harry leaned back against the wall and shut his eyes while Ron and Ginny continued to tease each other, letting their words wash over him. He felt strangely disconnected from everything. He thought it was rather similar to how he felt every time a school year ended and he was to board the train.

He opened his eyes and stared at the ceiling, tracking the cracks running across it like spiderwebs. The house was old, very old. He felt old too. A memory flashed in his mind, from the end of the last year. The graveyard. Cedric’s dead body falling on the ground.

He looked up at Ron. He was joking with Ginny, but Harry could see the wrinkles on his forehead and the tension in his shoulders. He was not over what had just happened. 

“You okay there Harry?” asked Ginny suddenly, cutting her jokes in the middle.

Harry gave her a small sad smile. “Fine.”

She raised an eyebrow at him, clearly sceptical.

“Really!” He raised his hands. “I’ve… seen worse,” he finished, trying not to think about how horrible that sentence could be understood. Ginny rolled her eyes at him, but Harry saw Ron giving him a curious look.

Harry quirked an eyebrow at him. “Cedric,” he muttered under his breath so Ginny – or god forbid Tonks – wouldn’t hear. “Quirrel. Riddle’s memory. The fucking basilisk.”

Ron winced, but nodded. “The troll,” he added. Harry grinned at him. That was one of the less terrifying memories.

He looked to where Tonks was talking to Hermione quietly. Hermione was glaring at the floor and biting her lip. 

“Now she just looks… pissed,” Ron whispered. “Merlin I hope she won’t try to storm the kitchen.” For a moment he seemed to contemplate something. “Though I’d love to see her – or anyone else – kick Moody’s arse.”

Harry silently agreed. “He could’ve at least get some information out of him first.”

Ginny stared at him. “Or no kill him at all, for example.”

Harry shrugged. “Or that yeah,” he agreed. Not that he felt particularly bad about Fletcher dying – the man was, apparently, a Death Eater, which pretty much guaranteed his indifference.

A movement outside the door caught his attention before he could formulate that feeling into anything reasonably coherent. He glanced in the direction to see the familiar long beard of Albus Dumbledore enter the room and look around it with a wrinkled nose. It did smell worse than the kitchen did, Harry supposed.

“Headmaster,” Tonks greeted him, directing hers and Hermione’s attention at the man. Harry saw Ron and Ginny turn to him as well, although he thought neither looked very thrilled at the prospect of facing the man, especially after how angry he got back in the kitchen. Harry just hoped none of the adults heard the last exchange.

“Are you four alright?” he asked, his eyes lacking their usual twinkle. 

Harry watched as both Ron and Ginny nodded. Hermione was not as quick to agree, but she did utter: “I’ll be fine,” when he looked at her.

“Harry?”

Harry startled, realizing he hadn’t answered. “I’m fine,” he said, leaving it at that – he suspected Dumbledore picked up the unsaid “mostly” anyway.

“I’m going to need to ask you not to mention what happened here today to anyone,” Dumbledore began. “I hope I don’t have to tell you what consequences it could have for everyone involved. The minister would not look kindly on us if the happenings of the past two months are any indication.”

Which they were. Harry would never think a newspaper could sell well if they simply kept talking about the same thing over and over again, but apparently people liked reading about how insane, how mentally deranged he was. He was not looking forward to school for once – he was  _ sure _ his lovely housemates would believe everything the Daily Prophet wrote.

Nevertheless, he nodded along with the others. Not tell anyone about Mad-Eye killing someone. Alright, he could do that. He’d kept bigger secrets before.

“Will we be leaving?” asked Ginny.

“Thankfully not,” answered Dumbledore with a smile. “We only needed to reset the Fidelius charm over the house. It is as safe as it was before.”

“That’s… good,” Ginny nodded and Harry fought the urge to laugh. She sounded so disappointed. She jabbed her elbow into his side.

“Harry, if I could have a word with you,” Dumbledore suggested and gestured outside into the hall.

Harry pushed himself off the wall and followed him into the empty kitchen. Dumbledore sat down and sighed heavily.

“How are you really?” he asked when Harry sat himself down.

Harry shut his eyes for a moment. “I don’t know. Empty. Like I’m just watching a movie.”

He groaned and leaned back in his chair, staring at the ceiling again, trying to collect his thoughts.

“When Cedric died… I was angry. And sad. Now I… don’t feel anything.”

“Nothing at all?” Dumbledore inquired.

Harry shrugged. “No, nothing concrete. Just… removed.” He looked straight at the headmaster expecting to see some sort of negative reaction. Surprisingly, he only saw… was it understanding?

“It is a normal reaction to situations such as these. It is not anything you should worry yourself about too much.” Dumbledore told him.

That… surprised Harry, if he was being honest. The last thing he expected was to be considered normal these days. Plus he thought not feeling, well anything at all, would generally be a problem, especially in a situation like that.

“It did help keep my mind clear,” he half-joked.

Dumbledore smiled. “Indeed.” Harry saw the familiar twinkle appear, before it disappeared and Dumbledore asked: “What about Miss Granger?”

“I honestly don’t know. Whatever Tonks did seemed to work, but I haven’t had the chance to talk with her yet.”

“And Mr and Miss Weasley?”

Harry sighed. “They seemed well enough. I don’t think Ron has gotten to dealing with his feelings yet though – he was far too worried about Ginny and Hermione.”

Dumbledore frowned slightly. “That is not a healthy approach-”

“I will speak to him. Once we… get out of earshot.” Harry nodded towards the door, where he could hear Mrs Weasley fussing.

Dumbledore nodded, apparently content to leave it at that and Harry had to wonder if him speaking to Ron would truly be enough. Then again he knew Ron well enough to know he would  _ not _ speak to anyone if he had a choice.

“So Harry, before I leave. Is there anything you wanted to ask me?”

Harry thought for a moment. “A few questions.” Dumbledore gestured for him to go ahead. “Snape is…?”

“I am afraid Severus is truly dead,” the headmaster sighed. “We’ve lost a valuable ally today.”

“And you’ll have to find an actually decent potion teacher,” Harry said before he could think it through. He mentally hit himself, but Dumbledore merely smiled and nodded.

“Right so… The… Death Eaters. The ones that were here...”

“They have been taken to a safe place. You needn’t worry about them.”

“Do we know who they were?”

Dumbledore gave him a contemplative look as he joined his palms together in front of him. “We have been able to identify them yes. It appears Messrs Travers, Pyrites and Nott have been ordered to attack us as soon as possible, given their moment of surprise advantage.”

“There were four Death Eaters,” Harry pointed out. “Not including Fletcher.”

Dumbledore sighed. “I suppose you should be informed, you’ll find out soon enough anyway.” Harry gave him a suspicious look. “Peter Pettigrew was with them.”

“Pettigrew?!” Harry shot up and leaned forward.

“Please, Harry.” Dumbledore rubbed his temples tiredly. “Yes we’ve caught Peter and yes I fully intend to hand him over to the ministry, but we have to be careful. Minister is not just going to accept anything I say. We’ll need help.”

“Help?” Harry questioned, wondering who could the headmaster be referring to as he leaned back into the chair.

“Yes. Why I believe you’ll meet them tomorrow. And I wouldn’t want to spoil the surprise for you.” Dumbledore winked at him.

Harry fought down the urge to scowl at the headmaster and asked instead: “And the prophecy?”

Dumbledore shook his head. “I am afraid I cannot reveal this tonight. It is too big of a risk to store such information in an unprotected mind.”

“Unprotected mind?” Harry asked, about a thousand questions running through his mind. “How can a mind be unprotected? Is mind reading possible?” He settled for what he believed was closest to the actual explanation.

“It is not mind reading per se. It is a very complicated matter, one that most wizards disregard these days. Suffice to say that mind arts are extremely difficult to learn and only a few take time to do so.”

“You did,” Harry assumed. “And Voldemort must have too.”

Dumbledore nodded gravely.

“If he can… read minds, how could Snape be a spy? Wouldn’t Voldemort find out?”

“Professor Snape was master in legilimency and occlumency which are both subjects of mind arts. Occlumency is the art of shielding ones mind from intrusion.”

Harry frowned. “Shouldn’t I learn it then? It sounds useful.”

Dumbledore gave him a small sad smile that for some reason irked Harry considerably. “I believe you would find it particularly difficult to learn, my boy,” he said.

Harry considered arguing, but decided against it. He fancied himself on knowing the old headmaster enough to recognize his mind was already set. He still made a note to ask Sirius about it.

“I’d still prefer to know about the prophecy. I mean how likely is Voldemort to look into my mind when he’s somewhere on the other end of Britain?”

“Do not underestimate his power Harry,” Dumbledore warned him in what Harry considered a very evasive answer. He nodded nevertheless.

“Is there anything else?” Dumbledore asked, seemingly ready to leave.

“What about Mad-Eye?” Harry burst out before the man could get up.

Dumbledore sighed for what seemed like a hundredth time during the conversation and said: “I’ve told Alastor repeatedly that killing people doesn’t solve problems, but merely creates other, more extensive ones. Unfortunately, he seems to ignore my opinion on the matter every time I do so. Using an Unforgivable curse on top of it,” he made an unhappy pause, “opens a new can of worms; one I’d rather not have to deal with at present.”

“Isn’t… someone going to notice Fletcher missing?” Harry inquired.

“It is not likely, but not impossible,” Dumbledore admitted. “It is not, however, what worries me the most.”

Harry gave him a questioning look.

“It is what effect it will have on the Order and people involved,” he explained. “I fear some might… follow his example.”

Suddenly getting hit with the echo of what he’d said to Ron and Ginny a few minutes ago came sailing to Harry. He hoped Dumbledore didn’t hear him back there – although he was pretty sure he would’ve said something if that was the case.

Dumbledore got to his feet, Harry right after him. “If there is nothing else…” he said and raised his eyebrow.

Harry shook his head. He couldn’t think of anything at the moment. He was sure he’d remember some crucial question the very moment the headmaster would disappear.

“In that case, I shall take my leave.” Dumbledore nodded at Harry and approached the fireplace. He threw a bit of the floo powder into the flames and stepped in. He said his destination and spun out of sight. Harry briefly wondered if he even bothered to tell anyone he’d be leaving so soon.

He walked to the door, not particularly interested in staying in the rather smelly room for any longer – not until someone had the time to clean the remnants of their prank form there. 

He heard someone talking outside and wondered if Fred and George were trying to listen in on them.

He opened the door and looked into the hall to see Remus talking with Sirius. Remus cut himself off when he was him in the doorway.

“Harry, is Dumbledore-”

“He left already,” Harry shook his head, his suspicions confirmed when Remus scowled.

“How are you feeling?” Sirius asked.

Harry shrugged. “Fine. I already said that.”

“You did,” Sirius acknowledged. “Ron went upstairs if you’re looking for him.”

“And Hermione?”

“She is still talking with Tonks. I’d leave them to it.” Remus gestured at the door to the dining room. “And Ginny is with her parents.”

Harry nodded. “I’ll go up too then,” he said and walked around the portrait of Sirius’ mother quietly. He was painfully aware of the looks that followed him as he rushed to his room.

There he found Ron sitting on the windowsill, staring out mindlessly. Harry thought that’s what he must’ve looked like most of his time at the Privet Drive, this summer surprisingly not the Dursleys’ fault.

“Anything interesting out there?” he asked, startling Ron.

“No,” Ron answered shortly, trying – and failing – to hide his surprise. “I was just thinking.”

“About Fletcher,” Harry said, not even bothering to make it a question. Ron nodded anyway.

“I don’t like what’s going on with Hermione. It’s not like her at all.”

Harry had to agree on that point. Blanking out wasn’t what she usually did. Still, that was very much not what he had asked. “That’s true. But it’s not what I meant,” he said pointedly.

Ron rolled his eyes. “I know. You want to know if I’m okay. I’m  _ fine.  _ Really.”

Harry took in his demeanour. He really did look fine; much more so then Harry himself did, if he was being honest with himself. That left the question of what was his best friend contemplating so deeply he missed him opening the creaky doors to their room.

“What’s with that musing you had going on there?” he asked and sat on his bed.

Ron shot him a sideways glance. “Not a word of this to anyone.”

Harry raised an eyebrow, heavily intrigued, but nodded anyway. He shot a look at the doors, hoping that everyone was still too preoccupied to listen in on them, even the twins – especially the twins.

“I don’t think Dumbledore… dealt with it like he should have,” Ron began. He gave Harry a nervous look. “With the entire situation. He left already, didn’t he?”

Harry nodded. “How did you know?”

Ron shrugged. “I guessed. Somehow I didn’t think he’d stick around for long, he never seems to.”

He had a point, Harry assumed. “He’s a busy man,” he countered nevertheless.

Ron laughed. “Oh yeah, undoubtedly. Still, one would say that the fucking base of operation being compromised would warrant a bit more than a passing look and a short visit.”

Harry quirked his eyebrows and frowned. Was Ron – Ron Weasley of all people – questioning Albus Dumbledore.

“Not to mention this entire ‘too young to be involved’ farce. He didn’t seem to think you too young last year. Or literally any instance where we’d gone and saved the day. Riddles, magic mirrors that can ensnare you, basilisk, fucking giant spiders,… we were never too young for those, it’s only when we want information.”

“He didn’t even know about half of those things, only after we’d done them,” Harry pointed out to him, knowing fully well that was not the point Ron was trying to make.

Ron rolled his eyes. “That is literally  _ not the point, _ and you know it. No, what I mean is… we keep getting into dangerous situations no matter what we do. Like last year, what did we say? We want a quiet year. And what did we get?”

“A murderous tournament where I was illegally entered that ended in a resurrection of Voldemort and  _ no one  _ believing me?” Harry tried.

“Precisely,” Ron nodded. “So don’t they think giving us something to work with would do more good than leaving us to end up in such situations completely clueless? I don’t need to know everything the Order does, Merlin knows I don’t care, I just want to know if there’s a chance of walking into a deadly trap! Too young my ass! You-know-who is trying to kill you regardless of age, so it’s not like it really matters?!”

“I know,” Harry sighed. “I feel the same.”

“They don’t even seem to be doing anything in those meetings,” Ron continued to grumble.

“And they’re going to be even less now that Snape is dead,” Harry pointed out. “They’re not going to have much information if they don’t have a spy.”

“So, ultimately, it doesn’t matter at all now,” Ron muttered. 

Harry shrugged. “No. But they’re not going to listen to that argument – to any argument. You’ve heard your mother.”

Ron nodded. “Aye. But Sirius could.”

“That is true.” Harry gave him a long look. Sirius did look like he wanted to tell him things when he first arrived, but was stopped by Mrs Weasley. But if she wasn’t around...

“Tomorrow.” He decided. “We will talk to him tomorrow.”

Ron made an agreeable sound. “Mom will be suspicious, though.”

“I’m spending time with my godfather. She can’t forbid that.” Even as he was saying it he felt that given the right circumstances, she’d definitely try. Ron’s look all but confirmed it.

“How about we ask Ginny to distract her?” he suggested.

“And Hermione could distract Remus if...” Ron trailed off.

Harry nodded. “Yeah.”

They exchanged looks. Tomorrow, the silence seemed to say. Come tomorrow they’ll have their answers.


	2. Neville´s happiest day

Harry and Ron crept up the stairs, keeping close to the wall. Mrs Weasley was already downstairs and Mr Weasley had left for work some time ago, but the twins were still asleep. They also didn’t want Ron’s mum to hear them – she had the uncanny ability to sense when her children were about to get in trouble. They didn’t want to prompt such feeling by being careless.

They passed around the twins’ room – Harry was rather sure he heard voices from inside – and continued up, to the topmost floor where Sirius’ room was located.

There were only two doors on said floor. One had a sign hanging on them. “Do Not Enter Without the Express Permission of Regulus Arcturus Black,” Ron read aloud. “Who is that?”

“Sirius’ brother,” Harry answered and knocked on the other door. Ron looked at him strangely.

“I didn’t know he has a brother.”

“Had. Regulus died. Years ago. Apparently he joined the Death Eaters and then tried to quit. They didn’t like that, so Voldemort had him killed,” Harry knocked a bit louder, casting a worried glance at the staircase. “Is he even in there?” he growled.

“Where else would he be?” Ron questioned, letting the topic of Sirius’ brother go.

“Literally anywhere, it’s his house.” Harry pushed the door open. He looked around the room and grinned when he saw it decked out in Gryffindor colours.

A moment later he found a familiar mop of black hair sticking out from under the covers of the bed. He smirked slightly and stepped inside, motioning for Ron to follow him and shut the door.

He approached the bed and leaned as close to Sirius’ ear as he could. “Sirius,” he whispered, dragging out the syllables for far too long. He watched Sirius grimace and dig deeper under the blanket.

Harry opened his mouth to try again when he got a better idea. He cast a cautious look at the door and turned back. He let out a sudden bark.

He pulled back quickly when Sirius shot up, almost hitting Harry in the process. He reached for his wand on the end table. Harry stepped back.

“Sirius, calm down, it’s just me,” he hissed urgently while Ron stood by the door snickering at him.

“Harry?!” Sirius shot him an incredulous look. “What- Do you truly think this is a good way to wake someone up after yesterday?” he spat.

Harry looked down. Now that Sirius pointed it out it did sound like a very stupid thing to do. “Sorry,” he muttered.

Sirius waved his hand and dropped back onto his pillow. “Nevermind that now. Why did you wake me up?”

“We… wanted to ask some questions. Preferably without Mrs Weasley knowing.”

Sirius quirked an eyebrow at them. “It’s about the war and the Order, isn’t it?” Harry gave him an innocent smile in response.

Sirius rolled his eyes and propped himself up to lean back against the wall behind his bed. “Sit down then.” He gestured at the rest of the room.

Ron quickly claimed the only chair in the room, so Harry jumped up on the table, making himself comfortable there. Ron rolled his eyes and muttered something under his breath. Harry wasn’t sure what it was, but he hit his shoulder, just in case.

“So what do you want to know?” Sirius asked, looking between them amused, while Ron grumbled and rubbed his shoulder.

“Yesterday. What happened in the kitchen after Dumbledore oh so subtly threw us out?” Harry asked.

Sirius ran a hand threw his hair. “Well, there was a lot of shouting for a while. Remus and Molly” he nodded at Ron, “among the most prominent.”

Ron rolled his eyes and looked away. Harry felt the urge to do the same, knowing very well how explosive Mrs Weasley could be, although he didn’t feel the same embarrassment Ron seemed to feel, her not being his mum.

“When everyone finally calmed down, Dumbledore lectured Moody for a while – that’s about the time you came in – after that Moody left in a huff. I rather suspect that hadn’t Tonks left with you, he’d have tried to ordered her with him.”

“Could he do that?” questioned Ron.

Sirius shook his head. “No, not with him being retired. After he had left the headmaster had the four Death Eaters dragged to Hogwarts.”

“WHERE?” both Harry and Ron snapped, wincing as their voices echoed around the room.

Sirius’ voice was grave and his face sombre when he explained: “He plans to lock them up in the dungeons at Hogwarts.”

“The same dungeons where Slytherin common room is?” Harry asked.

“We – Remus and Arthur and I mostly – did try to tell him it’s probably not a good idea.”

“It’s a fucking terrible idea, that’s what it is,” Ron scoffed. “If they escape they have hundreds of children right there to hold hostage or whatever _or_ the Slytherins will actually _help_ them escape. I don’t even know which one is worse.”

“Well he did say it was only temporary placement, but-”

“Wait.” Harry held up his hand. “Wasn’t one of the Death Eaters named Nott?” He leaned forward, fixing Sirius with a neutral stare.

Sirius nodded. “Thurman Nott. Nasty man, why?”

Harry turned to Ron. “Isn’t there a Nott in our year in Slytherin?” he asked. “What’s his name, Theodore or something?”

Ron nodded, paling with every new information. “Yeah. Never seen much of him though.”

Sirius rubbed his temples. “That is not good. Does Dumbledore-” Sirius cut himself off, shaking his head over what he was about to ask. “Of course he does know. What is he thinking?”

Ron gave Harry a significant look, seeming to say ‘I told you’. Harry nodded once while Sirius was busy scowling to himself.

“And what of Fletcher?” he asked.

Sirius shrugged. “What of him? There wasn’t much that could be done about him. Diggle hauled him off to bury him somewhere.”

Not even a proper funeral for the man then. At least they were not making an example out of him in some twisted way. That would really drive Ron’s point home.

“He mentioned something about a prophecy.” Harry reminded carefully.

“Dumbledore didn’t tell you, did he?” Sirius sighed deeply, rubbing his forehead.

Harry shook his head and frowned. “No. He said something about me having an unguarded mind. That’s another thing I wanted to ask.”

Sirius raised an eyebrow. “He worries about someone trying legilimency on you?” He shrugged. “Well, it’s not _that_ implausible, I suppose.” He frowned as well and stared out of the window for a second. Deep lines on his forehead underlined how old he looked – too old for someone barely midway through their thirties.

“I don’t know what it says exactly, only Dumbledore knows that. I do know, however, that it refers to you and You-know-who and that it was _the_ reason why he went after you on that night.”

Harry was confused. “Why is it so important?”

Sirius leaned closer to them and lowered his voice. “As I said, no one knows the wording of the _whole_ prophecy. And You-know-who is _desperate_ to know it.”

“Why? It’s just some prophecy. I mean they are usually made up crap anyway,” Ron said.

Sirius gave a barking laugh. “Agreed. Don’t you two take Divination though?”

They both nodded. “Yeah. That’s why we know,” Ron agreed. “Seriously it’s just an easy grade, nothing more. I sort of regret choosing it now actually.”

Harry hummed in agreement. As easy as it was, he honestly thought it was a waste of time and he _could_ be doing something better with his life. Something more interesting at the very least.

“So only Dumbledore could tell me more,” Harry concluded.

Sirius nodded and leaned back against the wall, stuffing his pillow between his back and the headboard.

“Joy,” Harry drawled. “And the… what did he call it? Occlumency? How does one learn that?”

Sirius shrugged. “It’s different for everyone. I can give you some books on it, but ultimately you have to figure it out yourself.”

“Can you do it?” asked Harry.

Sirius grinned. “Yes. I learned it when I was about fourteen. My mother seemed to think I would never be capable of it, so I did. Just to spite her.”

“Why would she think that?” Ron questioned with an odd look on his face – no doubt thinking about his own mother. She had an unfortunate habit of underestimating her children. Especially the younger ones.

Sirius scoffed. “The generally agreed-upon part of it is that you have to be able to clear your mind and get hold of your emotions. She seemed to be of the opinion that I couldn’t do either.”

“Dumbledore thinks I’d find it difficult too. I think I know why now,” Harry frowned.

Sirius tilted his head, disagreeing look adoring his face. “It’s not _that_ difficult. I’ll look for the books I used, they were a great help.”

“Could I learn it too?” asked Ron.

“I don’t see why not,” Sirius said. “I will-”

“GET UP, EVERYONE!” the shrill voice of Mrs Weasley echoed around the entire house – Harry suspected she cast Sonorus on herself – and made everyone in the room jump.

“We should get going,” Ron got to his feet, “before she notices we’re not in our room.”

Harry nodded and jumped off the table. He stopped at the door and turned back. “Dumbledore mentioned someone visiting today. Any idea who that is?”

Sirius nodded. “Longbottoms.”

“Neville with his grandmother?”Ron questioned.

Sirius shook his head. “The Lord and Lady of the house. Neville’s parents.”

Harry exchanged a surprised look with Ron. “But aren’t they… Well, they were tortured…” Ron stammered. “And Neville lives with his grandmother, so I thought-”

“Apparently someone found a way to heal them,” Sirius told them. “However unlikely that is.”

Harry knew that tone of voice. Whatever Sirius was told, he didn’t believe it. And he found the situation extremely suspicious.

“WAKE UP OR I SWEAR YOU’LL BE CLEANING THIS HOUSE FOR THE REST OF THE DAY!” Mrs Weasley yelled from the hall downstairs, waking up the portrait of Sirius’ mother again.

Harry threw an annoyed look at the staircase behind him. As if they wouldn’t be doing that anyway. “What is so fucking important?” he wondered and backed out of the room.

“And Harry,” Sirius called after him softly, “I don’t know if anyone has told you, but Alice is your godmother.” 

Harry turned to him and opened his mouth, but Ron pulled his hand. “Come on, mate, mum’s probably gonna come up soon.”

Harry threw one last glance at Sirius, who was in the process of getting up and fetching something decent to wear, and shut the door. He followed Ron as they crept around the twins room – still tightly shut – and rushed to their room.

They closed the door gently and Ron sprawled on his bed, throwing the blanket over himself to cover his clothing. Harry shut himself in the bathroom, letting the water in the shower run.

It didn’t take more than a few minutes until he could just make out a soft knock and Ron’s fake sleepy voice calling: “What, mom?!” It was a good act. Harry would know, all the years at the Dursleys taught him well.

He jumped as the door to their room banged open and he heard Mrs Weasley loudly telling Ron to get up. He wondered exactly how one can go from gently asking for entrance to shrieking at inhuman volume in such a short time.

He heard her walk over to the window and pull the curtains wide open, cough from the amount of dust she had to have inhaled and battle with the old window to pull it open.

“Is Harry in the shower?” she asked and for a moment Harry feared she’d actually walk inside the bathroom. The next second he felt the urge to slap himself, because he was sure Mrs Weasley of all people, would _not_ just walk in on him showering. Not intentionally, anyway.

“Yeah, don’t go in,” Ron snapped quickly, obviously panicking as well.

“Get up, Ron, we are going to have guests soon,” Mrs Weasley ordered and Harry heard her walk up the creaking stairs. He sighed in relief and tilted his head backwards shutting his eyes for a brief second, before stopping the water. If she didn’t think Ron’s reaction strange, there’s no way they could screw this up. 

He walked out of the bathroom to see Ron angrily slamming the door. “She really can’t do that herself, can she?” he spat and threw himself back on the bed in what Harry thought to be a little over-exaggerated action.

Then again he had seen basically the same scene play out back at Privet Drive that very summer when Dudley decided he didn’t actually want to go to the business party Vernon had been invited to after all.

Harry jumped when he heard Mrs Weasley shout at the twins in the room directly above theirs. He caught Ron rolling his eyes when he got up again.

“Let’s go down, before she comes after us with a torch,” Ron muttered and walked out of the room, leaving Harry to question his choice of words and feel annoyed at not knowing what seemed like a normal magical expression. Perhaps the witch burnings reference? In situations like that he resented his childhood with the Dursleys more than ever.

***

Harry sat down at the dining room table and looked around. Remus was talking with a woman whose name Harry had forgotten again, Ginny was snickering at Tonks changing her appearance to look like Dumbledore with disturbingly big ears and Arthur was reading the Daily Prophet. Harry cautiously peered at the front-page headline and was not surprised to see it slandering him. He scowled and turned to the empty plate in front of him.

He quickly put some bacon on it before Ginny had the chance to consume it all and nudged Ron. He pointed at Remus’ clearly unhappy form.

“What got him so upset?” wondered Ron, keeping his voice carefully low.

Harry shrugged. “No idea, but he was like that yesterday too. After Dumbledore left.”

“Everyone was pissed when he left,” Ron pointed out and Harry inclined his head. It was true, he had to admit, although he rather thought it had just been the stress.

Sirius walked into the room and sat down at the head seat, next to Harry. He was dressed and looked mildly irritated. Harry raised an eyebrow at him.

“Molly certainly knows how to wake up the entire house,” he muttered gently. “It certainly is something when she screams right under your room.”

Harry laughed and Ron shook his head. “You haven’t had her screaming _in_ your room yet, have you?”

Sirius sent him a grin. “Thankfully.”

Harry shook his head and nodded at Remus who was watching them, looking extremely suspicious. He bit down the question about what had happened between them yesterday as he was sure the werewolf would hear it – damn the enhanced hearing that came with lycanthropy, one couldn’t even gossip in peace anymore. Instead, he asked: “Mrs Weasley said something about a visit. Is it someone from the Order then?”

Sirius shot him a questioning look, that Harry chose to interpret as ‘why are you asking I already told you.’ Harry looked at him pointedly and made a small gesture towards the rest of the room. Sirius picked up on it and nodded. “They were a part of the first Order, yes. They have yet to join us this time around.”

“Is that why they are coming?” Ron asked with his mouth full of egg.

Harry felt the urge to slam his mouth shut, being horribly reminded of Dudley, but refrained from acting, merely rolling his eyes and glaring at him. Ron didn’t seem to notice.

“I do believe so. I’m not sure how the visit is supposed to achieve this, however, what with the lack of any leader here.” Sirius noted dryly just as Mrs Weasley walked into the room, the twins close behind her, earning himself a rather nasty scowl.

Harry watched the twins sit on each side of Ginny and join in on whatever conversation she had with Tonks. Mrs Weasley took a seat opposite of Sirius.

From the corner of his eye, Harry saw Sirius frown lightly and stab a piece of bacon with a bit more force than strictly necessary. He wondered what that was about.

“Where is Hermione?” asked Ron, looking around.

Ginny seemed to startle and look around herself wildly. “She said, she’d be down in a bit. I’m gonna go get her.” She got up hastily.

Harry watched her leave with a heavy feeling in his chest. He exchanged a look with Ron, who looked ready to bolt and follow his sister. He glanced at Tonks who caught his eye and shrugged. No one else seemed to be overly worried. 

Ginny returned shortly after, with Hermione following behind her, looking sheepish. “Sorry, I forgot the time,” she said in a way of explanation, sitting across from Ron. 

Most people returned to their conversations, while Hermione loaded her plate. 

“Alright there, Hermione?” Sirius asked quietly.

She nodded distractedly and muttered: “Yes, thanks.”

Harry gave her a clearly disbelieving look, while Ron just raised an eyebrow at her. She was _not_ alright, Harry was sure of it.

“Eat up then,” Sirius said and turned back to his own plate. Harry shot him a surprised look. Couldn’t he see it?

Sirius returned the look and shrugged almost helplessly as if to say ‘It’s not like I can help her.’ Harry turned his attention to his bacon too, keeping an eye on Hermione.

He soon noticed she was just pushing the food around her plate, without actually eating any of it. He frowned to himself, but made no comment. Ron, however, wasn’t going to restrain himself.

“You aren’t eating,” he pointed out and stared at her plate.

Hermione jumped slightly and looked down a bit guiltily. “I’m not hungry,” she murmured.

Harry stared at her. She was not acting like the Hermione he knew. He pushed his chair away from the table and got up. “I’m gonna head back up,” he announced and walked out of the room, casting one last look at Hermione.

She seemed to pick up his intention as he heard both Ron and her excusing themselves and follow him up. Not the most inconspicuous plan, but it would have to do.

He sat himself down on his bed and waited for them to catch up. Ron shut the door behind them and they both sat down on Ron’s bed, leaving Harry enough space to sprawl out.

They sat quietly, knowing each other far too well for the silence to be awkward and Harry tried to order his thoughts. He hadn’t actually planned further than getting them out of the dining room. Fortunately he didn’t have to do anything, Ron taking the initiative.

“It’s Fletcher isn’t it?” he asked. “The thing that’s bothering you.”

Hermione leaned against the bedpost and sighed deeply. “Yes,” she said, immediately following it with: “No.”

Harry couldn’t help but raise an eyebrow at her.

“Is it Moody?” he asked after a moment of contemplation. Those were the only two obvious choices after all.

She shook her head, only to nod a second later. Ron next to her rubbed his temples. “You’re not making any sense, Hermione,” he noted and Harry gave him an incredulous glance. Did he truly say that?

Hermione sighed again. “I know,” she agreed. “That’s because it just _doesn’t_ make any sense.”

She hit the pillow she was sitting on in frustration. “I should be feeling something definite, right? Anger, maybe?”

That sounded surprisingly like the thing that kept happening to him. “You feel empty? Sort of detached from what’s going on around you?” he asked for clarification.

She looked at him. “No. I just feel…” she stared at her hands. “Desperate?” She shook her head and gave Harry a curious look. “That thing you just described sounded too detailed. Is that how _you_ feel?”

Harry rolled his eyes at her ever-present need to know stuff, but nodded anyway. “Yeah. Apparently, it’s a normal reaction, at least according to Dumbledore – which is good because I was starting to feel abnormal, being detached like this every time shit goes down at the end of the year.”

Ron snorted. “Good thing some of us still have emotions then.” It startled a laugh out of both Harry and Hermione.

“Shut up,” Harry threw an empty pack of chocolate frogs at him from his end table. Ron caught it and looked inside. He tossed it away with a disappointed look.

It was a good sign to see Hermione laugh, at least Harry hoped it was. He stuck his tongue out at Ron in a fit of childishness. “You didn’t think I’d waste a perfectly good, _full_ pack of candy on you, did you?” he asked mockingly.

Ron gave him an offended look and crossed his arms. “I did, actually. It hits harder.”

“If I wanted to hit harder I’d throw a book,” Harry shot back.

“You wouldn’t dare,” Hermione said between the fits of laughter.

Harry threw her a betrayed look. “Hey! You’re supposed to take my side!”

Ron sent him a smug grin. “I don’t know what you expected, planning to throw books,” he pointed out and ducked from the incoming scroll, barely avoiding being hit in the head.

“Harry!” Hermione called while Harry followed the scroll with his eyes. It landed in a pile of clothing near Ron’s trunk. “Don’t throw homework around like that!”

“It wasn’t homework!” Harry defended himself. Hermione gave him an unimpressed look and he shrunk back. “Okay, maybe it was a homework. But it’s Divination, it’s not like it matters.”

He nearly burst out laughing again when he saw the familiar look of disgust on her face. “Are you going to take your OWLs in it?” she asked.

Harry shrugged. “I have to. I’m dropping it the moment I can though.” He shook his head. “Seriously, that subject was possibly the worst decision of my life.” He glared at Ron pointedly.

“Worse than following the spiders?” Hermione asked and Harry winced at the memory of being hunted by a car-sized Acromantulas.

“Second worst, then,” he decided.

The door opened before they could continue, letting Ginny enter. She walked in and sat at the end of Harry’s bed, hitting his legs to get him to move over. He didn’t, merely quirking an eyebrow at her.

“Seriously, Ginny, can’t you knock?” Ron huffed. “What if we were naked here?”

“Hermione is here,” she pointed out.

Hermione raised an eyebrow at her too. “So?”

Ginny’s face following that question was priceless in Harry’s opinion. Her eyes jumped between the three of them. Then Ron broke into laughter. Harry soon followed, Hermione merely gave her a self-satisfied smirk.

Ginny got up. “I’ll go then. Seeing as I’m not welcome here,” she huffed too, making the same face Ron had, and left the room, slamming the door behind her.

Harry calmed down and stared after her “Why did we throw her out, exactly?”

“Because she should make her own friends,” Ron answered the exact time Hermione said, “I just didn’t feel like including her right now.”

Harry looked between them. “She’s… our friend?”

“Yeah,” Hermione agreed. “And you’re in love with her.”

“What?” Harry spat out, almost choking on his saliva. In love?! With Ginny?! “But- She’s Ron’s sister!”

Hermione laughed. “I know, I know! I’m just making fun of you.” She dropped onto the bed with her head hanging down from the other side. “So what happened while I was… confused?”

Harry exchanged a look with Ron. “So… You say you are okay now?” he asked.

Hermione shook her head – at least that’s what Harry thought what she did, not being quite able to tell with her position. “No. It’s like.. there’s something clawing at my chest from the inside. And I have no idea how to get rid of it. But… I think I’m going to be okay. Eventually.”

“Well, that’s good then, I was starting to think you’d-” Harry was interrupted by a sharp knock and the door opening. He thought it was Ginny again – as did Ron, judging by his furious face.

“Oh, you’re all here. Great,” Sirius’ voice sounded from the hall. He entered the room properly and closed the door. He carried a pile of books and he dropped them on Harry’s table.

“Are those-” Harry got up and picked one of them to look through.

“The ones about Occlumency I promised you, yes.” Sirius nodded. “It’s actually only two books, I just copied them so you all have your own version. I thought you’d want to learn it too,” he nodded at Hermione. “I highly recommend starting with the thick brown one, it’s got all sorts of insight in it.”

He turned to leave, then stopped before opening the door and turned to them. “The visit is soon to be here, I’d say you’ll be expected downstairs.” He cast a look at the books he had brought. “Keep those hidden and if anyone asks, I’ve never seen them in my entire life.”

Harry watched him leave with suspicion. He looked at the book in his hands. There didn’t seem to be anything wrong about it. Leather bound, rather thick, seemed old. But nothing shady. So why so cautious? 

He looked at his friends, both looking as suspicious as he felt. Hermione was sitting and she extended her hands to him. He handed her a pair of the books and then handed one to Ron as well, keeping the last pair for himself.

It was Ron who drew in a sharp breath. Both Harry and Hermione looked at him. He looked pale and was holding both books a bit away from his body, as if afraid they’d bite him, and he was giving them a very cautious look. He seemed ready to throw them across the room should they move or do anything out of ordinary. 

“Ron?” Harry asked, not sure if the other boy was alright.

“These… they’re… illegal,” he whispered. 

Hermione immediately pulled away from her books as well, holding them at a respectable distance. Harry merely looked down at the two innocent-looking books in his lap.

“Why?” Hermione questioned.

Ron opened his mouth to answer. And nothing came out. “...I actually don’t know. All the books by this guy are.”

“Are they dangerous?” Harry questioned, wondering why would Sirius even have something like that. Then he remembered he was in the Black ancestral house and the family wasn’t known for being sane.

Ron shook his head slowly, pulling the books closer again and placing them on his knees. “No, I don’t think so. The entire deal was something about a rumour that Malone’s technically co-written everything with a vampire, which the ministry didn’t like and chose to just ban everything he’s ever written.”

Harry raised an eyebrow. “Because a vampire might have been involved?”

Ron nodded.

Hermione’s shoulders slumped and she stopped holding the books like dead fish. “Really? This is just ridiculous. Oh no! A vampire! Whatever shall we do!?” she drawled in a mocking high-pitched voice.

Harry snorted and even Ron, who still looked a bit worried, grinned. “Right. We still better not be seen with them.”

Harry heard the sound of a fireplace going wild just when he entered the kitchen. He watched a tall sand-haired man step out clumsily and swipe the floo powder from his hair angrily. He had broad shoulders and a scar running down his cheek. He was dressed in nondescript brown robes.

Right behind him followed a woman, her blonde hair barely reaching her chin, the ends curling outwards. She carried herself proudly and held her head high. She wore a deep red dress that shone on her snowy white skin.

The last person to step out of the fireplace – covered in the green powder – was Neville, with his messy hair and flushed cheeks. He immediately started rubbing the green power from his hair and shoulders.

“Ah, Sirius, it is a pleasure to see you are well,” the man intoned as he gripped Sirius’ forehand, greeting him first.

“Likewise, Frank, likewise.” Sirius smiled. “Alice, looking beautiful, as always.”

“Still the charmer, I see,” the woman laughed gently while Sirius kissed her on both cheeks.

Harry watched the interaction with interest. He found it strange and maybe a tiny bit unsettling to see Sirius converse with someone with such ease, looking like a perfect host so effortlessly.

“That’s… some very pure-blood act right there,” Ron whispered in his ear. Harry hummed in response. If this was what it meant to be a pureblood, he certainly wouldn’t mind being one.

“I should introduce you,” Sirius shook himself and turned to the people in the room. “Everyone, these are my dear friends, Alice and Frank Longbottom with their son and heir, Neville.”

“Yeah, definitely pure-blood raised,” Ron muttered again. “And the Longbottoms too.” Hermione nudged him under his rib.

Sirius then started introducing the present Order members. “These are Molly and Arthur Weasley, I think you’ve met during the last war. You remember Remus, don’t you?”

Harry shuffled a bit as the introductions neared him. “That is Nymphadora Tonks, my dear cousin Andromeda’s daughter. And those three awkward-looking teenagers in the door are Hermione Granger, Ronald Weasley and Harry Potter,” Sirius finished.

Harry felt three pairs of eyes on him and swallowed. “It is a pleasure to meet you both,” he got out. 

“I should hope so,” Alice noted dryly. Mr Longbottom nudged her gently with a smile playing on his lips. “Give the boy a break, he probably thought us insane until just now,” he told her. Harry thought it was a rather reasonable assumption and was glad for the excuse.

“Oh, actually, I don’t know if anyone has told you, Harry, dear, but Alice-” Mrs Weasley jumped up from her seat.

“Is my godmother,” Harry finished for her. “I know.” His brain fished around for any reason to be aware of it that didn’t incriminate Sirius for telling him something he probably wasn’t supposed to when his eyes landed on Neville. “Neville mentioned it.”

“Oh,” Mrs Weasley deflated. “We shall leave you to… catch up then,” she said and rushed everyone out of the room, looking very put-off when Sirius refused to leave.

“Neville mentioned it?” Sirius asked the moment the door slammed shut.

Harry shrugged. “I had to have a reason to know it,” he explained. “She would prefer me not to know _anything at all_ about the wizarding world it seems,” he added towards the Longbottoms.

Mr Longbottom raised his eyebrow. “About the wizarding world? Didn’t you grow up here? I understand Sirius was in prison, but surely Adrian, Mitchel or even Dagmar would have taken you?”

Harry shook his head. “I live with my aunt and uncle for… very complicated reasons that I don’t actually know much about. I have no idea who… those people you mentioned are, in fact. I’ve never heard those names before.”

He cringed when he saw Alice take a deep breath and flush. “You don’t mean your mother’s sister, do you?” she asked loudly.

Harry got the feeling she didn’t harbour pleasant feelings for Petunia. He didn’t either. “I do.”

For a moment she seemed ready to throw a tantrum, but then she simply huffed and asked: “Whose genius idea was it, to leave you with that horrid woman?”

“Dumbledore’s,” Sirius said before Harry could get a word out. Harry wondered if Sirius thought he’d try to cover for the headmaster. “He’s growing a bit old it seems.”

Mr Longbottom turned to him with a questioning look. “That sounds like he’d made more than this one terrible decision during the time we were… incapacitated.”

Neville grimaced while Harry outright snorted. “That would be putting it mildly,” he muttered under his breath.

Mr Longbottom shot him a look before saying: “I should like to speak to him.”

“Many of us would,” Sirius growled. “Unfortunately, he’s nowhere to be found.”

“What do you mean? Isn’t he here? Looking over the Order?” wondered Alice with a confused look.

Sirius shook his head. “He is not. And as it seems he’s also not at Hogwarts nor the Ministry. No one can contact him now, not since what happened yesterday.”

Mr Longbottom nodded. “I’ve heard Moody has gone trigger happy again?”

Harry blinked at the casual use of a muggle term from the man. He hadn’t expected it, especially as he had been in a coma for years.

“So you’re staying here through summer?” Neville asked him while shuffling closer and putting a reasonable distance between himself and his fuming mother.

Harry grinned weakly. “Yeah. It’s… interesting.”

“For sure,” Neville answered as he looked around the gloomy room. The kitchen was one of the more cheerful places in the house, Mrs Weasley having put a few personal touches on it, but it was still rather depressing.

“It was empty for years. And Ron’s mum is making us clean it by hand.”

He noticed the surprised look on Neville’s face. “By hand? Why? Can’t she, or anyone else just use magic?”

Harry shrugged. “I have no idea and it’s better not to question it.”

Neville hummed in response and Harry was sure he had his own opinion on the matter, one he didn’t want to reveal.

“So your mum is my godmother,” Harry stated – he wasn’t sure what he meant by it, but he felt like it needed to be said.

“Yes. And yours was mine,” Neville agreed in the same flat tone.

They stayed silent for a few seconds, the conversation of the three adults washing over them. Then Neville spoke again: “It makes us godbrothers, doesn’t it?”

Harry shot him a look. “I’m… not sure if such term even exists.”

“It does, didn’t you know that?” Neville glanced at him surprised.

Harry shook his head. “Nah. I’ve never heard of it, especially since Dudley doesn’t have any.”

“Your cousin?”

Harry grimaced. “Yes.” He was saved from saying more on the topic by Alice approaching them. She sat down at the closest chair.

“How are you, Harry?” she asked. “Sirius said you’re staying here over summer.”

“Just the last two weeks or so. After the minister decided to make a nuisance out of himself again,” he answered, getting a chuckle out of Neville.

“The hearing,” she asked. “What happened? The media were surprisingly quiet about it.”

Harry shrugged. “They had to free me. Basically just because Dumbledore said so. I’m pretty sure half of them didn’t actually believe there were any dementors. Not minister, anyway.”

Alice scoffed. “That man wouldn’t believe potion is liquid if you poured it down his throat if it didn’t fit his needs.”

Neville snorted, leaving Harry to blink dumbly at her, wondering how on earth did she come up with such idiom. Was he truly that ignorant to this world?

“Petunia didn’t change much did she?” Alice changed the topic.

Harry shrugged. “I don’t know what she was like before,” he pointed out. “But no, I don’t suppose she did.”

He saw something flash across Alice’s face, but it was gone before he could identify it. She clasped a hand on his shoulder. “We have Pettigrew. We’re going to get him convicted and have Sirius freed.” She scowled. “And I am personally going to find out what so damn important had the three idiots been doing these past fourteen years that they couldn’t look for you once.”

“Who are they?” Harry asked, very interested in these three people who, apparently, both Longbottoms thought should be raising him – and what reason they had to not do so.

Alice gave him a contemplative look. “I’ll tell you if you promise me to not get angry at them and wait until they have a chance to explain themselves to make a judgment.”

Harry nodded. He could do that. He wouldn’t feel resentful against three complete strangers. He _wouldn’t._

Alice sighed and sat back. “Well, the first that comes to mind is Adrian Greengrass. His family has always been close allies of Potters’. I can’t imagine what prompted him to withdraw like this.”

Harry quickly thought. The name didn’t tell him anything – neither did the fact that there was apparently an alliance of sorts, whatever that meant – but he did think he’d heard the name Greengrass before.

“Daphne Greengrass, Slytherin. She is in our year. Has a younger sister in Ginny’s year,” Neville told him, upon seeing his lost look.

“Mitchel Selwyn,” Alice continued, “is Frank’s cousin from his mother’s side, Augusta’s brother’s son. He is also technically the one who should have raised Neville, but I understand he’d been blocked by his head of the house for some arcane reason.”

Harry gave a blank look and Neville just shrugged. “I don’t think anyone gets this one,” he muttered and earned himself a reprimanding look from Alice.

“And Dagmar Abbot was a friend of your mother. The only one of us who wasn’t directly involved in the war. I would be very interested to know whatever happened to our agreement myself.”

“Abbot?” Harry asked. “As in Hannah Abbot?”

Neville nodded. “Yes, Hannah is her daughter.” He gave Harry a sideways glance. “I at least got to know them, even if only a little bit, but we never knew where you were until you turned up at Hogwarts.”

Harry nodded absently. He _wouldn’t_ get angry, he told himself sternly. Yet he couldn’t deny there was a part of him – a very small part of him – that was upset by the fact that he had to grow up with his muggle family when there seemed to have been so many people left to take him in; people designated for that task by his parents, if he understood it correctly.

“We need to leave now, before the healers catch us out of the house,” Alice stood up. She gripped his shoulder once again and leaned close to him.

“We’ll get you out of that house,” she whispered and gave him a small kiss on his forehead, leaving him stunned. She stepped into the fireplace, saying a goodbye to Sirius and disappeared.

“See you on the train?” Neville asked and hit his shoulder gently to get his attention.

Harry nodded. “Catch us a compartment, will you? We’ll probably run late again.”

Neville rolled his eyes and muttered something about Ron. Harry raised an eyebrow at him. “He’s a prefect now, you know?”

“Ron?” Neville asked. “I thought you’d be.”

Harry shook his head. “I think I’ve caused too much trouble to get _that_ badge.”

Neville laughed. “True,” he said before stepping into the fireplace and disappearing back home.

Harry turned to the last Longbottom in the room – the one he hadn’t truly spoken to yet. The man was looking at him with a raised eyebrow and shaking his head.

“And Sirius said you are all James,” he muttered.

“I said he _looks_ like James!” Sirius defended himself with a scowl. “I’ve never said he _acted_ like him.”

Harry’s eyebrows shot up at the exchange. “Don’t I act like dad?” he asked quickly, searching for yet more insight into his parents – preferably something that didn’t involve people telling him he _‘looks just like his father, except his eyes’_.

Mr Longbottom looked him over. “You look very much like James did at your age. But you act a lot more like Lily would. It’s… definitely very strange to watch.”

Harry was taken aback. “But everyone’s always said-”

“Well they can’t have know James that well then,” the man interrupted him softly. He looked at the fireplace. “I need to leave now,” he said. “Thank you for the information, Sirius, it’s much appreciated.”

“Don’t worry about it.” Sirius waved him off.

“We’ll get you out by December, I promise.” Mr Longbottom took a handful of floo powder from the urn nailed to the side of the fireplace. He looked at Harry one last time. “Worry not, young man, you won’t go back to _that_ place if I have anything to say about it.”

Harry nodded and the man disappeared in green flames. Harry looked at Sirius, who was leaning against the table looking rather self-satisfied.

“Does that mean that...” he couldn’t quite finish the sentence, worried he would jinx it if he did, just like the last time.

Sirius nodded with a smile. “Yes. You’ll come live with me.”

Harry grinned slightly. “In here?” he asked and waved his hand around.

Sirius grimaced. “I’m not quite sure on that one yet, actually,” he sighed. “I don’t particularly fancy moving to the giant manor, it’s very impractical when there’s only two of us. But this house has… bad memories stored here.”

Harry stayed silent. “How about cleaning it up. And I don’t mean the thing we’ve been doing. I mean properly cleaning, getting rid of all the horrible stuff here, changing it completely. You know… the way your mother would _loath_ to see it?”

Sirius gave him a blank look at first and Harry thought he was unclear about what he meant. Then a small grin appeared on his godfather’s face, soon followed by a large one. When Sirius gave his typical barking laugh, Harry was sure he got him.

“Well, at least now I know what I’ll be doing next few months,” Sirius commented and looked around. Harry had no doubt Walburga Black would be rolling over in her grave very soon.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Writing, oh writing, why do you take so long?


	3. Luna Lovegood

Watching the Weasleys run around the house trying to fetch their things at the last minute left Harry feeling grateful for Hermione’s and Remus’ nagging about packing the day before. He was sitting in the dining room, Sirius next to him reading a book – Harry couldn’t read the French name, let alone translate it – Hermione looking all her homework over one last time and Remus calmly sipping coffee and reading the Daily Prophet.

Ron, on the other hand, seemed to be at several places at once, moving at incredible speed around the house gathering his clothes, books and equipment. Ginny, likewise, seemed to had forgone the laws of time and space in favour of packing and the twins straight up apparated around the house in an attempt to avoid their mother’s scolding.

Harry wasn’t sure why Mrs Weasley thought it prudent to scold them when she was nowhere near ready herself. He, however, knew better than to point it out.

“You know, you could have packed yesterday,” Hermione pointed out to no one in particular. “Like Harry and I did.”

Ron leaned in between her and Harry and whispered: “It’s a bit too late for that now, Hermione. Unless you have a time turner again?” 

“Hey, that’s secret!” Hermione swatted him with one of her scrolls and Harry snorted. 

“Shut up, Harry, you only packed to shut her up,” Ron muttered and left, grabbing a piece of toast from his plate, completely ignoring Harry’s shout of protest.

Harry sighed and turned to Sirius. Ministry was still going on about him being a terrible liar, but he was currently more interested in how fast they can get Sirius freed and what it would involve. Before he could ask, however, Ginny came rushing in. “Have you seen my cauldron? I can’t find it.”

“Didn’t you lend it to Fred and George for their experiments?” Hermione asked without looking up from her homework. “Like, three weeks ago? When they burst into our room at three in the morning?”

Ginny stopped in her tracks and blinked. “Right. Thanks, Hermione!” She ran out of the room again.

Harry gave Hermione an incredulous stare. “Why do you know where she keeps her stuff better then she does?”

Hermione shrugged and threw a strawberry in her mouth. Harry rolled his eyes and, deciding she was not going to answer properly, turned to back to Sirius.

“How are we getting to school this year?” he wondered.

Sirius shrugged. “Like every single year, by train.” His eyes stopped fixed at one place on the page as he rethought his answer. “Every year, but your second one,” he added.

Harry snickered. “No, I meant, how are we getting to the station?”

Sirius raised his eyebrow. “Walking?” he suggested. “We’re literally  _ in London _ .”

“Is it safe?” asked Hermione with a frown on her face.

Sirius closed the book and looked at her. “You’ll have the Weasleys, Remus, Tonks and Moody walk with you,” he pointed out. “Plus, I highly doubt You-know-who is very interested in watching London right now.”

“Sirius.” Remus shot him a warning look. Sirius raised his hands in defence and rolled his eyes.

“What, is it dangerous to mention He is probably rebuilding his army?” he asked mockingly. “It’s not like it’s  _ that _ hard to figure out.”

Remus threw his hands up and scoffed in frustration, while Harry and Hermione grinned.

“Seriously, give me a break, this is getting ridiculous. Can I at least tell them that they are getting two new professors this year?” Sirius drawled.

“Yes, you can tell them that,” Remus sighed. “I mean, it is rather obvious.”

Sirius gave him a pointed stare and Remus shrunk back, hiding behind the giant format of the Daily Prophet. The front page had a headline saying that there had been a  _ terrible robbery at the Three Broomstick –  _ Harry was very carefully ignoring it in case he would start laughing. He’d read the article. One of the locals took notice and kicked the guy’s ass.

“Do you know who they are?” he asked, looking between the two men.

“Well, Dumbledore told us the names. He only hired the Defense professor a few days ago.” 

“And?”

Sirius shrugged. “I know him. You’ve heard of him. Well,  _ you _ did,” he nodded at Harry. “As for the Potions guy, I’ve never heard his name before.”

“Are you sure? You might have forgotten,” Remus pointed out.

Sirius gave him an unconvinced look. “Do you truly __ think that  _ that  _ is a name I’d forget? Do you, Moony?”

Remus looked down and shrank back behind the newspaper. “Probably not,” he agreed bemusedly.

“Why? What’s his name?” Hermione questioned, looking very confused.

Sirius sighed. “We should probably prepare you for it...” Harry saw Remus nod gently and grimace slightly. He exchanged a look with Hermione and turned back to Sirius with a raised eyebrow. What could possibly be so bad?

“His name is-” Sirius snorted. “God I can’t even say it with a straight face. It’s Brewster Beltaine.”

Harry blinked. “It’s what?” he asked, while hearing Hermione snort into her drink. He felt a smile tug at the corners of his mouth.

“You heard me,” Sirius said with a sour face and rubbed his forehead. Harry thought he looked like the name itself was causing him pain.

“He’s a Potions professor,” Hermione snickered. “And his first name is Brewster.”

“Yes,” Remus agreed, folding his newspaper. “Beltaine is a brand of Scottish ale if I’m not mistaken.”

This time Harry snickered. “Am I supposed to take this guy seriously?”

“I’m afraid so,” Sirius drawled. Harry threw him a glance.

“You said you don’t know him so why such dislike?” he asked, interested if there was something Sirius knew that the rest of them didn’t.

Sirius shrugged and sneered. “The name tells you all you need to know about the guy.”

“He can’t be worse than Snape,” Harry claimed in a low voice, casting a look over his shoulder. Snape’s death was a dangerous topic.

“He can never be as biased, unfair and downright nasty as Snape,” Sirius conceded. “But he can __ be bad in a different way. And the name doesn’t give me much hope.”

“Don’t judge a book by the cover,” Hermione told him. “Never heard of that?”

Sirius shrugged again. “He may be actually good,” he agreed. “but with Dumbledore’s track record at hiring staff, do you truly believe that?”

Hermione looked taken aback. “Well-”

“Lockhart,” Harry said. “Snape, Trelawney, Binns,… And those are only those who were – or are – just bad, never mind the dangerous ones.”

“Well, I’m sure he’s not doing it intentionally,” Hermione spluttered.

“He better fucking not be,” Sirius muttered under his breath so low Hermione didn’t catch it. Remus gave him an unhappy frown, but refrained from commenting. Harry was about to change the topic and ask about the Defense professor when Mrs Weasley rushed into the room.

“Ah, here you are! Get your trunks, we’re leaving,” she ordered him and Hermione. They exchanged looks and Hermione closed the scroll she was reading through.

They both left the room, leaving Mrs Weasley to throw suspicious looks at Sirius.

“You know what?” Hermione asked as they walked up the stairs to the sound of Sirius’ mother screaming her lungs out. “I’d like one quiet year at Hogwarts.”

Harry gave her a panicked look and then leaned against the railing in front of her room, sighing. “Now you’ve done it. You’ve jinxed it.”

***

Platform 9 ¾ was packed. Harry pushed his way through the crowd, dragging his trunk behind him, trying to get to the train. He ducked under some guy’s hand, another one almost hit him with an owl cage and a woman nearly knocked him over while backing out of toilets.

Ron and Hermione had already left him in favour of getting to the front carriage for the prefect meeting. Ginny was being held back by her mother and the twins had disappeared somewhere to find Lee Jordan, leaving Harry completely alone.

Well, not completely – he could just make out Moody’s figure hidden near the wall, his magical eye following him and Remus was trying to keep up with him, Harry having significantly easier time slipping around people. 

As for Sirius and Tonks, Harry had lost sight of them quite some time ago. Tonks, he wasn’t surprised. She was making use of her metamorphomagus abilities and blended into the crowd seamlessly. Sirius, in his grim-like form of a big dog, he was much more worried about not seeing.

He didn’t think anyone would recognize him or that he would make something unbelievably stupid to get himself captured. No, he was more worried about him being trampled to death by the over-excited crowd of students, parents, aurors and other humans – or animals, in fact – on the platform.

He got to the train and turned, expecting to see Remus either standing behind him, or at the very least closing the distance between them. However, he saw nothing.

He climbed up onto the train and turned around again, looking for the familiar face. No such luck, he only saw a sea of strange faces, none of them paying him any mind. Thankfully.

Looking over the platform one more time, he realized he couldn’t see anyone anymore. Remus, Sirius and Tonks were lost in the crowd and Moody with the Weasleys hidden behind the curtain of smoke.

He sighed and backed inside the train before someone had the chance to scream at him for obscuring the way. He dragged his trunk down a corridor, peering inside the compartments.

For the first time ever he knew what it felt like to try and find one specific person on board. Before he had always arrived with the others and needn’t have done such a thing. This time, however, he felt he was getting the full force of the irritation all of his classmates must have felt every September. Where on Earth could Neville be?

Several carriages down the train and a lot of greetings from people he barely knew – which he found quite worrying since he’s shared classes with them for four years now – he was ready to consider Neville hadn’t gotten on the train yet.

He entered another carriage and was hit by a burning smell, his eyes started to water as he walked right into the smoke coming out of the first compartment. He choked and hurried forward, not sparing the people inside a single look.

In the next carriage, he pushed past a group of Slytherin students. He overheard some very interesting theories about their new professors and was half tempted to stop by and mention what he’d learned of the new Potions master. Then he remembered their house and decided it wasn’t worth the trouble.

In the very last compartment of the carriage, he found the familiar mop of sandy hair.

“Hey there, Neville,” he greeted the boy through the open door and looked the other student over. She was taller than him, had strawberry blonde hair running down her back in a long plait. She was leaning against the wall next to the door. And Harry knew her.

“Harry,” Neville greeted back and got up, fingering the hem of his shirt nervously. “You know Susan, right?”

Harry nodded. Susan Bones. Hufflepuff. “How were holidays?” he asked her, just to be polite – and also because he was unsure how to proceed.

She smiled. “Good. We went to Spain. I was just trying to find out from Neville here, who was made a prefect in Gryffindor...” she trailed off, shooting Neville a scathing look.

Harry raised an eyebrow at him and he turned pink. “That would be Ron and Hermione,” he told her.

“Ron? Ron Weasley?” she questioned with a strange look. “I thought- Nevermind.” She shook her head. “Well, it’s Ernie and Megan in our house.”

“Megan?” asked Neville. “Why? I thought you or Hannah would be,” he added as an afterthought. Harry just looked between them. He remembered Ernie, the guy was a right pain in his second year, but he had no idea who Megan was. It made him feel terrible about himself.

“Me?” Susan laughed. “Please, Pomona would never make  _ me  _ a prefect, she’s not insane. And Hannah gets dragged along too often to be a plausible choice too, I assume.”

“Getting into trouble?” Harry asked and entered the compartment properly. 

“You’ve got no room to judge,” Neville shot at him before Susan could answer. Harry laughed along with Susan and inclined his head. Neville wasn’t wrong.

“Right. Do you know who the prefects for other houses are?” Susan asked. Both boys shook their heads. 

She threw a look outside and quietened her voice. “Now, I don’t know for sure, but I’ve heard it’s Padma Patil and Anthony Goldstein for Ravenclaw and...” she leaned closer to them, “…Malfoy and Pansy Parkinson for Slytherin.”

“MALFOY?” Harry spat out immediately. “Who in their right mind would make  _ him  _ a prefect?”

Susan shrugged and leaned back. “He is popular with his house,” she pointed out in a flat tone.

“And I am popular in Gryffindor, yet here we are,” Harry contradicted. He rather didn’t think about the fact that he may not be too popular this year.

“It’s a decision made at the end of the school year, so it would be Snape who chose him,” she said.

Harry rolled his eyes. “Crap. The evil bat just has to torture me from behind the grave,” he muttered, prompting a giggle out of both Susan and Neville.

The train jerked and moved. Harry almost fell off his feet and gripped the nearest hard surface.

Susan straightened up and pushed away from the wall. “I should get going, Hannah will be looking for me. See you both later,” she said and left the compartment, leaving the boys alone.

Neville slumped into his seat and Harry finally lifted his trunk onto the racks. He plopped at the seat opposite of Neville and raised an eyebrow at him.

“Draco Malfoy,” Neville groaned. “A goddamn prefect.”

Harry nodded. He wasn’t surprised, not truly, but he certainly found it highly inconvenient. Anyone would have been better than Malfoy!

“At least Pansy will balance him out,” Neville sighed and Harry shot him a bewildered look.

“Parkinson? Are you sure?”

Neville grimaced and sat up properly. “Yes. She’s not bad. I mean, she’s not bad after you get to know her  _ and  _ she’s not hanging out with Malfoy.”

Harry raised an eyebrow at him and Neville looked away. “Okay so she pushed me down the stairs after I called her stupid when we were seven,” he answered the unasked question.

Harry snorted. “And you’re not over it, yet?”

“Well, they were steep!” Neville defended himself. “And I broke my leg.”

“You called her stupid,” Harry pointed out. Neville glared at him. “She’s a girl,” Harry continued. “You don’t insult girls.”

Neville looked at him pointedly. “Hermione. First-year,” he reminded him.

“That was Ron,” Harry said in a fake offended voice. 

Neville made an unconvinced humming sound and looked out of the window. “My parents went for a check-up,” he said, sounding upset. “So they just dropped me off.”

Harry nodded. “I lost my escort in the crowd.”

The door to their compartment slid open. Harry turned and saw Ginny standing there with a girl he was reasonably sure he hadn’t seen before in his life. She had very long pale blonde hair, she wore a strange necklace made of butterbeer corks and she had her wand tucked behind her ear.

“We can sit here,” Ginny said over her shoulder and walked in, lifting her trunk up. Harry got up and helped the other girl get her own on the racks.

“Thank you,” she said in a dreamy voice. “I’m Luna, Luna Lovegood.”

“Nice to meet you. I’m Harry Potter,” Harry introduced himself. “And that is my fr- my godbrother, Neville Longbottom.”

They sat down and Harry watched the strange girl with interest. She looked distracted. She pulled a magazine out of her bag and started reading it. Holding it upside down.

Harry exchanged confused looks with Neville and turned back to the girl. “Luna, you’re… not holding the magazine right,” he settled for saying.

“It’s better like this,” was a stunning answer that left Harry gaping. “And it’s not a magazine.”

“Well what it is, then?” Neville asked. Neither of the two boys paid any attention to Ginny, snickering on the seat opposite of Luna.

“A newspaper,” she told them as if it was the most natural thing in the world. She was staring at Neville with big eyes, looking surprised. Harry noticed they were silver and… cloudy.

“Alright,” Neville shrunk back. Harry tilted his head to see the name of the newspaper, it wasn’t Daily Prophet, of that he was sure.

“The Quibbler?” he asked. “I’ve never heard of it.”

“It’s a private newspaper,” Ginny explained. “It doesn’t have a big fan base.”

“Daddy is the editor,” Luna chipped in happily.

“And the sole owner,” added Ginny.

Harry nodded. It would explain why she had it. Why she was holding it upside down, however,…

“Luna is in my year, in Ravenclaw. She lives near us,” Ginny informed them.

Harry looked at the girl again. All he knew about Ravenclaw came rushing to his mind, just to be shattered by the girl next to him. He’d always thought about Ravenclaws as… well, Hermione, but more annoying. True know-it-alls. This girl… well, he couldn’t say anything about her aside of being very, very strange.

He peeked onto the page to read what it was about. He only managed the headlines, but considering what they said, he decided he didn’t particularly wish to read more at the moment.

“It’s the Wrackspurts,” Luna said suddenly and looked up at him. “They seemed to have taken residence in your hair.”

Harry blinked at her dumbly. “Excuse me?” Neville was giving her a very unsure glances and Ginny just rolled her eyes.

“Wrackspurts. They’re invisible. They float in your head through your ears and make it go all fuzzy and confused. You seem to have a lot in your hair,” Luna said by the way of explanation. At least Harry thought it was supposed to be an explanation, it didn’t make a whole lot of sense.

“I’m pretty sure my hair doesn’t house any… creatures,” he said and ran his hand through his hair subconsciously.

“It does,” Luna said, sounding sure of it. “Don’t worry, they’ll probably find a better home once we’re at Hogwarts.”

Harry gave her a suspicious look, not quite sure if she was making fun of him. Seeing her dreamy eyes, he rather thought she wasn’t. Which left the question of what on Earth was she talking about?”

“Luna, I’ve never heard of such creatures,” he told her. He saw Ginny take out a pack of cards and asked Neville to play with her. It seemed Neville was too interested in the conversation going on right in front of him and Ginny slumped into her seat, pouting.

Luna shrugged gently. “Most people haven’t. They know how to keep hidden.”

Harry thought that sounded nefarious.

“Are you sure they are real?” Neville asked softly. “I’ve never heard of them either.”

“Of course they are real, why shouldn’t they?” Luna challenged.

Harry exchanged look with Neville. He was reasonably sure there was no such thing as Wrackspurts and by the looks of it, so was Neville.

“How do I get rid of them?” Harry asked instead of answering, earning himself an incredulous stare from his godbrother.

“Get rid? Hmmm,” Luna tapped her chin and looked off into the distance. Then she smiled and looked back at him. “Maybe you could try thinking positively.”

Harry raised an eyebrow at her, unimpressed. “Think positively,” he repeated.

“Uh-hu,” she hummed happily. “They won’t like that, I don’t think.”

By that point, Harry was absolutely sure these Wrackspurts didn’t exist. The entire thing sounded as made up as it could possibly get. Still, Luna didn’t look like she was messing with him. She seemed to actually believe what she was saying. He rubbed his temples.

“I’ll… try to do that, then,” he told her and leaned against the window, throwing a discreet look at Neville and making baffled face at him. He noticed Ginny glaring at him and shrugged, gesturing towards Luna.

She glared at him harder and drew the other girl into a conversation about some of their more annoying classmates – or that’s what Harry gathered.

***

Several hours later, just as Harry was finally succeeding in getting Neville to acknowledged he did, in fact, get a new wand during summer and explaining why it was necessary, the door to their compartment slipped open.

Ron barged in and immediately dropped onto the nearest seat with a groan. “If I see any more first years setting each other on fire with made-up incantations I’m personally going to murder all of their older siblings,” he exclaimed and pushed himself up, to sit like a human being. “Hey guys, how’s the ride been so far?”

“Surprisingly peaceful,” Harry responded and looked between his two best friends in question; Hermione taking seat opposite of Ron.

“Lucky you,” Ron muttered.

Hermione rolled his eyes. “We’ve finished our patrol. Now it’s the Slytherins’ and Ravenclaws’ turn,” she explained. “Do you know who the other prefects are?”

Neville nodded along with Harry. “Well, we think we know,” he clarified. “We’ve talked with Susan Bones.”

Ginny perked up. “Really? Why haven’t you said anything?”

Harry shrugged. “You aren’t talking to us, remember?” he pointed out and gestured at Luna. 

She scowled at him and turned to Hermione. “Well?”

“Well, for Hufflepuff it’s Macmillan and Jones for Hufflepuff,” she held up two fingers. “Goldstein and Padma for Ravenclaw.” Another two fingers.

“Really?” asked Luna with mild interest. “Strange. I thought it would be Lisa.”

“Lisa Turpin?” Hermione asked. “Apparently, she refused the position,” she explained after Luna nodded. “I wonder why anyone would do that?”

“Maybe she doesn’t want the responsibility?” Neville suggested.

Hermione looked at him with big eyes. “That… might be it,” she admitted.

“Yeah, well,” Ron interrupted the conversation. “For Slytherin Snape chose Malfoy and Parkinson.” The distaste was visible on his face and in his voice.

“Be quiet you,” Hermione told him. “you don’t have to patrol with them.”

“You do?” Harry asked, looking at her with slight worry.

“Just Parkinson. Twice a week,” she sighed.

Harry winced. “Good luck.” He shot a glance at Neville who was rolling his eyes at them. He muttered something that sounded suspiciously like ‘seriously, she’s not  _ that _ bad’ under his breath and Harry gave him a sceptical look. Neville shrugged and rolled his eyes again.

“What was it about the first years?” Ginny asked and nudged Ron.

He scowled at her and rubbed his side. Then he grimaced. “You remember how Fred and George gave me the spell to turn… Scabbers yellow?” he asked Harry. 

“The poem that did  _ nothing at all _ ?”

“Yes. Well, turns out they were not the only ones to get such a great idea,” he frowned and ran a hand over his face. “So, now about fifteen first-years are thinking  _ ‘Sun is shining, rivers flow, now make this person’s hair glow’  _ is a legit spell.  _ Fifteen _ , how is that possible?”

Harry snorted and Ron threw him a dirty look. “Next time I’m going to have you walk with me and put the flames on their heads out yourself.” He rolled his eyes. “They were having so much fun with that ‘spell’ I can’t even believe. Oh we just almost burned one of our classmates? Let’s try it  _ again _ ,” he growled. “What could possibly go wrong?”

Ginny laughed outright, with Luna giggling at his impression. Ron just scowled at them both.

“Truly Ron, you just had to tell them to not do it again,” Hermione scoffed.

He gave her a very unpressed look. “Did it work?”

“No,” Hermione admitted. “But I can say I tried. And anyway, they just kept doing it because it annoyed you and Macmillan.”

“Maybe,” Ron allowed. “Anyway, anyone’s up for a game?” He held up a pack of cards.

In the end, it was just Ron, Harry, Ginny and Neville playing, the other two girls deciding to read instead – Harry was sure he saw Hermione turn her nose up at the sight of Luna’s Quibbler, but she did not comment.

They were only a few minutes into the game when the door to their compartment banged open to allow one furious looking Malfoy inside.

“Are you truly this stupid, Weasley, or did you merely think it would be a good way to get back at me?” he spat out, not paying any mind to anyone else in the compartment.

Harry looked him over, taken aback by the obvious rage the boy was in, as opposed to his usual mostly collected self. He also noted the absence of his gorillas – Crabbe and Goyle. He was, however, accompanied by equally upset Parkinson.

“What the fuck, Malfoy, get out of my face,” Ron spat at him, getting up and glaring at the boy.

“Get out of your face?!” Parkinson screeched. “We wouldn’t even be here if  _ you _ weren’t such a petty imbecile!”

“WHAT DID YOU JUST-” Ron was cut off by Hermione, who stood up as well and said: “Calm down. Malfoy, Parkinson, what’s going on?”

“You know very fucking well what’s going on,” Malfoy fumed. “I’ll-”

“No, Malfoy, we don’t,” Harry cut him off from his position, looking between the four prefects in confusion. Neville looked nervous, fingering his shirt again and biting his lip. Ginny seemed as furious as the two Slytherins and ready to curse them both. Luna… hadn’t moved an inch. In fact, Harry didn’t believe she’d noticed all the shouting.

Malfoy was about to yell at him too, Harry could see that, but Parkinson beat him to it. “Your friends here,” she waved her hand at Ron and Hermione, “decided it would be very funny to teach the first year a false spell.”

Harry blinked at her, while Neville snorted in his hand, trying to hide it with a cough.

Both Ron and Hermione seemed at a loss of words for a while. Then Ron grimaced and slumped back into his seat and ran his hand over his face with a deep sigh. “So they  _ still _ hadn’t stopped I take it,” he grumbled in very apparent annoyance.

“What do you mean?” Parkinson asked, suspicion colouring her voice. 

Ron merely waved his hand dismissively. “They’ve been setting each other on fire the whole goddamn ride. Apparently someone’s older sibling thought it would be a great idea to teach them the stupid poem and tell them it’s an incantation.”

“So you’re telling me you didn’t do this,” Malfoy sneered, clearly not believing them.

“Exactly how stupid do you think I am?” Ron scoffed. “Don’t answer that.” He waved his hand.

“This really isn’t our fault, we’ve been trying to stop them for hours. Ask Macmillan or Jones if you don’t believe us,” Hermione entered the conversation with an exasperated sigh.

Harry could see the two Slytherins thinking, evaluating their options and rethinking the whole situation. In the end, they nodded. They turned to leave without saying another word.

“Pansy!” Neville called out after them. They both stopped and turned to look at him.

“Congratulations on making Prefect,” he said simply.

A look of surprise flashed over her face before she inclined her head in thanks. They both left the compartment.

Hermione shut the door and sat down. “Honestly, did they truly think we’d do something like that?”

“I would,” Ginny chipped in.

Harry rolled his eyes. “That’s why you won’t be a prefect,” he pointed out, but his mind was still frozen with the entire encounter, refusing to catch up with him. Had Malfoy just failed to insult him? Was he… worried about the first years? It sounded ridiculous when he said it in his mind, yet it was the only conclusion he was able to draw from the conversation. Both Malfoy and Parkinson looked extremely distraught when they stormed in.

He rubbed his temples. It made no sense. The Malfoy he knew wouldn’t care. The Malfoy he knew was an arsehole and not a person who could be made a prefect. Not someone who’d take his duties seriously.

And Parkinson. Harry didn’t even know where to start there. Parkinson was a bully, she always had an insult ready for  _ everyone.  _ She wasn’t a person Neville would stick up for. Yet he did. More than once.

Harry groaned and slumped into his seat, wanting to just hug his knees and sleep. He felt like everything he had ever known was being thrown up in the air, because if he’d been wrong about Malfoy and Parkinson, then he didn’t think he could trust his own judgment anymore.

***

Few more hours and the train finally started slowing down. Everyone in the compartment got up, already changed into their robes. They walked out into the corridor where other students were already pushing each other to get out first.

They jumped off the train and moved towards the muddy road to Hogwarts. It wasn’t raining, not right then, but it obviously had been and Harry was willing to bet it would start again before the feast started.

His eyes scanned the space before him, looking over the heads of people around. He immediately noticed the absence of a certain big man with an even bigger beard. In his place – lantern in one hand and wand in the other, Sonorus charm on her throat – was a woman he’d seen only a few times the previous year.

He recognized her, of course. It was Professor Grubbly-Plank, a substitute teacher for the Care of Magical Creatures for when Hagrid had been indisposed. What was she doing there, though?

“Guys, where’s Hagrid?” he asked while they walked to where the carriages were waiting.

He watched his friends look around, all of them slowly noticing his absence. They shrugged.

“Maybe he’s gone somewhere?” Hermione suggested.

They reached the carriages a few moments later, Harry stopping dead in his tracks. 

Pulling the carriages were big horse-like creatures. They were skinny to the point Harry could count all their bones without trouble, reminding him horribly of himself back at the beginning of the first year. They were pitch black, looking as if they had been submerged in ink and it stuck to their skin. He also noted a pair of leathery wings folded at their sides that looked like they had belonged to a giant bat before someone decided to attach them to these creatures. Their heads looked dragonish: distinctly reptilian with what looked like a beak and their eyes were white and pupil-less, making them look gloomy and sinister.

“What- What are those?” Harry stammered and stared at the creatures.

“What? What are… what? Mate, you okay?” Ron gave him a strange look.

Hermione was holding the doors to the carriage open, looking between them.

“No, I’m… What the fuck? Can’t you see them?” Harry asked, risking shooting his companions one look, before staring at the creatures again. “I mean, they are right there, pulling the carriages.”

“Nothing is pulling them,” Hermione shook her head. “Never did.” She let go of the door and stepped closer to him.

“But- You really can’t see them?”

“I can,” Luna said from behind him and stepped closer to the horse-like beings.

“No, Luna, don’t! You don’t know if-” Harry tried to stop her; even reached for her.

“Oh please, they are harmless,” Luna laughed and danced out of his reach, petting one of them on the head. It leaned into her touch and made… well, Harry supposed it was a content sound.

“Uhm, so… there  _ is _ something there?” Neville asked, looking between the two of them.

Harry shot him an irritated look. “You seriously don’t see it.”

They all shook their heads, looking at him as if he was crazy. The same look was directed at Luna who, apparently, was petting thin air. Harry wasn’t sure what was worse. Those creatures looked  _ scary _ .

“Of course you don’t,” Luna said dreamily. “Only those who have seen death can see them.”

Ginny choked. Apparently that statement had been too much even for her. Neville was giving Luna a contemplative look, while Ron looked… unsure. Hermione, however, was scowling.

“Did you read that in The Quibbler?” she asked. “Because If you did then-”

“Oh daddy doesn’t write about Thestrals. He says they bring bad luck,” Luna mused, cutting Hermione off. “It’s a pity. They are very gentle creatures.”

“So where  _ did _ you read about them?” Neville intercepted the conversation while Harry stepped closer to the carriage, still shooting cautious looks at the horses.

“In the library. That’s where books are, after all,” Luna responded airily.

Harry quirked his eyebrow, a grin playing on his lips. He shot an amused look at Ron who was snickering at Hermione’s outraged face.

“We should probably get going,” Ginny pointed out, gesturing around himself. They were the last people there, even the first years had left already.

They all got into the carriage, realizing very quickly it wasn’t meant to have six people in it. They were pressed against each other, feeling very cramped in the small space.

“You never mentioned anything pulling the carriages before,” Ron pointed out after a while of silence.

“I… haven’t seen them before,” Harry admitted. “And last year I saw Cedric… die, so I think… that’s why I can now.”

“But how is that possible? Luna said those who have seen death can see them. And you’ve… you’ve seen your parents die. Before Cedric was killed. So why hadn’t you seen them?”

Harry frowned. That was true. He did see his parents die. Well, he’d only truly seen his mother die, but that should be enough if what Luna said was true. And he’d seen Quirrell die, something he was glad Ron hadn’t brought up. Yet, he hadn’t seen them last year or the year before. Why?

“Luna? Any idea?” he asked the girl squished between Hermione and Ginny opposite of him. He could clearly see Hermione turning her nose up and staring outside. Harry couldn’t imagine what caused her to dislike the other girl so much, but she seemed to have taken offence in  _ anything _ Luna said.

“I don’t know.” She tapped her chin and looked up as if looking for the answer in the sky. “Perhaps it has something to do with our understanding of death. Or lack thereof.”

Harry quirked an eyebrow. He wasn’t quite sure what she meant. Not being religious, he truly had only a very basic understanding of death. Mostly a big fat nothing once a person dies or possibly some afterlife which he had no idea how to even begin to imagine.

“I think, maybe, it’s about the realization of witnessing death, not the death itself,” she continued, looking paler than she had been before. “Or maybe I’m wrong. Perhaps it is something else that triggers it. Or it is just you who’s this way.”

Harry grimaced and ran his hand through his hair. He did not want to be special any more than he already was. He truly had no interest to be different in even one more way. Yet here he was.

“That sounds… very likely, to be honest,” Ginny muttered and shot a look at Harry. He could happily strangle her right then. He did  _ not _ want to be  _ The One.  _ Not again. Not in another thing. And he did not appreciate the look she was giving him, like she was planning something.

“Things happen around you a lot more accidentally than I have previously thought,” Neville whispered to Harry, who made a painful expression.

“Did you truly think I was looking for trouble?” he hissed back.

Neville shrugged noncommittally and looked to the side. Harry huffed and rolled his eyes. Of course, people thought he went looking for trouble. Of course, people would think it was his fault he, and by extension Ron and Hermione, kept ending up involved in – admittedly increasingly unlikely – plots.

But it wasn’t! He would swear on that one. It was not his fault it kept happening to him. As Neville had so aptly put it back in their second year when he´d hung from the candelabra in the Defense classroom: ‘Why was it always him – them?’ Every single time something had happened at Hogwarts he had somehow got involved. It just wasn’t fair. All he had ever wanted was a quiet year. He was already wondering what stupid adventure would happen this one.

He scowled. He didn’t want to think of the upcoming year, the Thestrals, the slandering of his name, the ministry, Voldemort, Cedric or any number of problems that could crop up in his head at any time, because he failed to deal with them.

He felt a familiar warm feeling settle on his shoulders and immediately relaxed. He smiled to himself, not even caring if the others noticed. He looked outside just in time to see the familiar wall running into the distance behind them. They had passed the Hogwarts gates. He was finally home.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Did somebody say comment? I´d like some comments.


	4. Welcoming feast

They were some of the very last people to enter the Great Hall. They grabbed seats near the Head Table, right next to where space for first years was left, seeing as both Ron and Hermione decided it would be much more convenient to sit with them during the feast. Harry and Neville just tagged along to have company, neither particularly keen on sitting with the rest of their year for fear of Seamus exploding something again. Ginny had gone to sit with her year mates.

Harry ran his eyes over the hall, taking the grand decor in. The hall was decked out for the Welcoming feast – the golden goblets, plates and cutlery polished, the candles lit and flying, something he knew only happened twice a year, and the Hogwarts coat of arms that hung behind the head table seemed to be giving off light itself. So did the ones hanging over each house table, although Harry barely even noticed those anymore.

His eyes sought out Susan, sitting at the Hufflepuff table. Next to her was Hannah Abbot, someone he had been supposedly meant to grow up with, if Alice was to be believed. He’d never as much as spoke to her for any measurable amount of time.

Next, he found Luna over at the Ravenclaw table. She was sitting in the middle of a cluster of her year-mates, but she didn’t seem to be talking with any of them, simply staring off into the distance as far as he could tell.

At last, his eyes landed on the Slytherin table. He could see Malfoy and Parkinson sitting together, talking to some other students. Harry had to admit he had trouble recognizing them, not only because they were on the other side of the hall. He made a point to find what he believed to be Daphne Greengrass.

The girl he thought was her was tall and blonde, she seemed to be bored with the conversation going on around her, staring into the distance with a blank look. He could see two girls, only one of which he would dare to guess her name, trying to get her attention and then turn away with a huff, engaging in a discussion with a pair of boys opposite of them.

He wasn’t sure if he liked the girl from what he could see – she seemed to be very disinterested in anything around her. Truly, even Malfoy sounded like a more enjoyable company than she from his observation.

“Daphne is the haughty looking blonde,” Neville whispered. “She’s… not really fun to be around. I get along with Astoria, her sister, much better.”

“I don’t think I like her,” Harry muttered back and looked away from the Slytherin table. 

“Not many people do, to be honest.”

Harry nodded and gave her one more look. No, he was very sure he wouldn’t like that particular girl – she looked completely lethargic to everyone around her.

He turned his eyes to the head table. There was Dumbledore, sitting on his throne-like chair. The seat on his right, where McGonagall usually sat, was empty, just like the big chair belonging to Hagrid and the one right next to him, which Harry could only assume belonged to Professor Grubbly-Plank.

The chair where the Defense teacher usually sat was occupied by a very tall man. Harry was kind of stunned, because the man was  _ giant _ . Not Hagrid-like giant, just extremely tall. He easily towered over everyone at the table.

But the thing that got his attention was the man’s clothing. His robes were bright orange and seemed to reflect light. Harry thought Dumbledore dressed foolishly – he was wearing striped robes right then – yet he was sure this man was much worse. Harry honestly hoped he would tone it down during lessons, because he didn’t think he’d get much out of Defense otherwise. The colour dragged his eyes and made them water in the most unpleasant way.

Next addition to the table was a woman he’d seen at his hearing earlier in summer. She was, again, dressed in a pink dress with darker pink cardigan over it. She was sat right next to the tall guy and, if Harry was right, she was not happy about it, even if the man seemed to pay her no attention, deep in conversation with Flitwick on his other side.

Harry then looked at the seat that had belonged to Snape for years, right on the headmasters left side. He almost choked on his saliva when he saw the man sitting there, talking with Dumbledore quietly.

The man was nearly a perfect duplicate of Sirius, but younger. He was tall, with chin-length smooth black hair, tall cheekbones – highlighted by the dark stubble on his face – and regal features. If someone were to take Sirius, shave his beard and take away the twelve years in Azkaban, Harry would think they were twins. 

“Who is that?” he forced out and nodded in the man’s direction.

All three of his friends looked at the man, Hermione almost getting a heart attack and Ron’s eyeballs nearly popping out.

“He looks a lot like Sirius Black,” Neville said slowly, the effect on him not being quite as big.

“A lot? Mate, they could be twins!” Ron spat out finally. Harry kicked him under the table, looking pointedly at the people around them.

“Does he have a brother?” Hermione asked. “Because… I mean it’s not Sirius. But they are obviously related.”

Harry looked away. Hermione’s idea had merit, but she was wrong, unfortunately. Ron shot him a look and even Neville looked a bit put out.

“Not anymore. He died,” Harry told her.

Hermione startled and then looked at the man again. “A cousin, perhaps?” she suggested, obviously deciding not to acknowledge the new information in any way.

“Maybe,” Ron muttered in a tone that made it clear he didn’t think it to be the case.

Unfortunately for them, they could not discuss the question any further, as McGonagall walked inside and faced the student body, standing on the podium.

“Please, quiet yourself!” she called out, gaining the attention of the students easily, as no one wanted to get on her bad side. “The sorting is about the begin.” 

She left again, Filch turning up out of nowhere and placing a stool onto the podium. He then disappeared, hiding in the shadows of the hall.

Harry saw Dumbledore tap the Sorting hat in front of him, lean close to it and whisper something. 

Then the door banged open, McGonagall storming in, the first years hurrying after her. They passed between the Ravenclaw and Hufflepuff tables and were stopped in front of the podium. Harry thought they looked clueless.

“They are tiny,” Ron muttered under his breath, nudging Harry. 

Harry snorted and rolled his eyes. “No, it’s you who’s giant,” he whispered back before being shushed by one of the seventh years nearby.

McGonagall had just placed the Sorting hat on the stool and stood patiently next to it, scroll in her hand. The hat opened its ‘mouth’ and started singing the annual song.

Harry tuned it out halfway through. The hat was not a very gifted singer and he felt he heard the song before. He couldn’t have, he knew, but the message of it was always the same. And he truly didn’t care for a recapitulation of what each house was supposed to stand for.

He clapped along with the rest of the hall when it finished, the hat bowing to all four house tables and falling silent.

“When I read your name, you’ll step forward and sit on the stool, while I place the Sorting hat on your head. It will then decide on your house,” McGonagall said clearly, giving the first years stern look. Harry wondered if she was intentionally trying to scare them.

“Avery, Terrence William,” she called out the first name and Harry saw both Ron and Neville scowl.

“Avery was a Death Eater,” Ron whispered and watched the short boy make his way up the few stairs to the stool. He sat down carefully, his feet dangling over the floor. Harry caught his nervous expression before the Sorting hat slipped over his eyes.

Several seconds later the hat made its decision. “SLYTHERIN!” it shouted and the green table cheered.

Ron rolled his eyes. “There we go,” he muttered and Harry nudged him. He was given a very offended look and their attention shifted back to the sorting.

Harry clapped when new students were sorted into Gryffindor, made a point to greet the children, ignoring the way they openly gawked at his forehead – his scar was hidden under the mess that was his hair. He nodded and smiled at Dennis when the boy asked if he knew his older brother – Harry remembered Collin, even if he did spend a lot of time during his second year avoiding the younger student.

“We should’ve sat further,” Neville told him quietly, making sure no one could hear him in the explosion of cheers from the Hufflepuff table.

Harry nodded slightly, not wanting the first years to notice and ran his eyes over the dozen still unsorted students. Just a dozen, not more than four new students for Gryffindor. He could do this.

The sorting went on and Harry slowly zoned out of it again. He mechanically clapped and said all the right words to the new first years, but his mind was somewhere completely different. Namely, on the big question sitting at the head table, clapping politely for all students. Sirius would have said something, wouldn’t he?

Finally the last of the first years sat down at the Hufflepuff table and Dumbledore rose to give his welcoming speech, the entire hall falling quiet.

“Welcome!” His voice echoed around the Great hall powerfully. “For those of you new among us, welcome to Hogwarts. For those returning, welcome again. I’m sure there is much on your mind, but it shall all be addressed after we’re all fed and watered, so please, enjoy the feast.” 

He winked at the students, before returning to his seat after a brief applause and the food appeared on the tables, successfully shocking the first years. Harry paid their astonished exclamations no mind and happily loaded his plate with the tasty food.

“So, I have to write to Snuffles,” Harry said in a fake cheerful voice. He saw Ron and Hermione nod, but Neville was giving him a lost look. He looked pointedly at the man next to Dumbledore. Understanding dawned on Neville’s face.

“I just hope he won’t do anything stupid,” Hermione muttered in a dark tone.

Harry shrugged. “Mr Longbottom said it should be over by December, so hopefully he’ll remember that and not get too emotional.”

Harry saw Neville grimace from the corner of his eye and quirked an eyebrow at him.

“Don’t let dad hear you calling him that.”

“Oh right, it’s Lord Longbottom, isn’t it?” Harry nodded, suddenly remembering Sirius referring to several people by such title throughout the summer – the Longbottoms among them. Neville made another face.

“That’s even worse. Seriously, just call him Frank or something.”

“I can’t just call him by his first name! That’s weird,” Harry protested, making face at the thought. It´s like he’d be asked to refer to Mrs Weasley as simply Molly, which he didn’t even want to imagine.

“Harry is right, you can’t just call people by their first name when you barely know them,” Hermione agreed, looking at Neville with slightly outraged look.

“You called Susan by her first name. And Luna.”

“That’s different, they’re our age.” Harry rolled his eyes. “And anyway, isn’t it polite to use proper titles?”

“Not with family members,” Neville sighed heavily.

Harry lifted his hands in defeat, still holding a fork in one. “Fine, you won. Frank it is.” He threw Neville exasperated look and returned to his plate. Neville frowned at him, but decided to let the matter drop.

They ate in silence for a while, Harry looking around the hall with squinted eyes. He took a deep breath and rubbed his temple. He was tired, he’d admit it. The hours-long ride was exhausting every time, he’d barely drank anything since morning and the students around him were just too loud.

And his eyes hurt. He took his glasses off and rubbed the glass into his sleeve. He put them back on, squinting into mid-distance to accustom his vision. Groaning he slumped into his seat, dropping the fork onto his plate with a loud clink. He shut his eyes.

“Are you alright, Harry?” Hermione questioned, worried look on his face.

Harry shook his head. “My head is killing me.”

She frowned and leaned over the table to look at him closer. She tilted her head slightly. “When did you last see an optician?”

Harry shrugged. “Before Hogwarts, I think. Why?”

She scowled in response. “I don’t think you should be wearing those glasses,” she told him seriously and leaned back.

“I can’t see without them.”

“Well, they are probably doing more damage then they’re worth. You should be seeing an optician periodically, so the glasses can be adjusted to your sight.”

“You could see Madam Pomfrey ‘bout it,” Ron said, looking between them a bit unsure. Harry assumed he didn’t truly know who an optician was, but deduced it had something to do with his health – an assumption that was not wrong, even if Harry wasn’t sure how Hermione concluded his glasses were the problem. It was his head that hurt, not his eyes. Nevertheless, he  _ could  _ see her. She was a licensed Medwitch. She was the school medwitch, even. She’d healed him from far worse than a headache or bad eyesight.

Well, he didn’t think she’d be able to heal it, not really. He was rather sure she would’ve tried already if she could, god knew she’d had the time to look closely at his eyes during all those times he’d been in the Hospital wing unconscious.

“I’ll see her after the feast.” He decided and saw all three of his friends nod encouragingly.

He sighed deeply and rubbed his face. Good lord, he was tired. Why was he so tired? He hadn’t been like this the previous year.

It was a relief to see Dumbledore stand up and the food disappear from the tables. One by one the students fell silent.

“Now, that we’re all full of delicious dinner, allow me to make several announcements.” Dumbledore took a deep breath and ran his eyes over the hall, lingering on the Slytherin table for slightly longer than the rest houses. Harry absently wondered if the Death Eaters they’d captured were still in the dungeons. He dearly hoped they weren’t.

“First, allow me to remind you of certain rules. The first years should note, that entering the forest surrounding the castle is forbidden – some our older students could finally learn this as well,” Dumbledore said first. Harry grinned at Hermione and Ron, sensing the headmaster wasn’t truly chastising them.

“Mr Filch asked me to remind you – for a fourth hundred sixty-seventh time I’m told – that using magic in the corridors outside of lessons is not permitted. He also wished for me to remind you that there is currently a steadily growing list of three hundred twenty-six objects banned at the school grounds. If anyone is interested, the full list can be found at Mr Filches office.” Here he gave the students slight grin himself, obviously aware that no one was interested, or in fact plan to head any of these warnings.

“Now, onto the darker news. In the light of recent events, you will notice some crucial changes to the staff. Before I get into them, however, I will ask you to hold a minute of silence with me for Professor Snape, who had been found dead just a few days ago.”

Dumbledore’s wand shone brightly as he lifted it, the staff following his example. Harry pulled his own wand out and lit the tip as well, knowing it was expected of him. He even tried to muster any feeling other than open resentment for the man. Unfortunately, he found none.

Looking around, Harry didn’t find a single person not holding their wand up, despite many of them hating the man while he was alive. Most likely it was a result of their respect for Dumbledore, even if the man himself was looking down at the floor and not at the gathered students.

“Thank you.” Dumbledore put his wand away and looked over the student body again, this time his eyes lingering on the Gryffindor table before he turned abruptly just when Harry finally managed to catch his eye.

“Professor Snape’s untimely demise had a great impact on the choosing process of the new members of staff, having to fill three positions instead of the usual one.” He got some low chuckles from the students and the professors, although, Harry noted, Professor McGonagall didn’t seem very amused, glaring holes through the headmaster’s back. 

“Professor Brewster Beltaine will replace Professor Snape in his position as the Potion Master of Hogwarts.” The extremely tall man Harry had noticed before stood up, waving his hand at the students. There was a lot of snickering and quiet muttering from the students.

“So that’s the man Snuffles talked about,” Hermione whispered.

Harry nodded, watching him. He saw the woman in pink barely restrain the look of disgust from appearing on her face. He also saw McGonagall pointedly look in a different direction. Yes, he didn’t think the man would have an easy time earning anyone’s respect.

“As for our annual change of Defense against the Dark Arts professor, it is my delightful duty to inform you that the curse on the position had finally been removed by a professional group of course breakers. Professor Regulus Black will be joining us permanently.”

Harry almost choked hearing the name. “Impossible. Snuffles said he was dead. You don’t just survive being murdered by Voldemort,” he hissed, but clapped politely as the man stood and bowed slightly.

“Says the guy, who’s known for doing exactly that,” Ron snickered, but he did keep shooting the man suspicious glances.

“Through no fault of my own.”

“That only applied the very first time, mate.”

Harry was about to throw some clever comeback at him, when Dumbledore raised his hands to quiet the clapping students. Harry noticed that the Slytherins looked strangely happy, for some reason. He wasn’t sure what could make them so pleased aside of finally getting a competent teacher that was staying, and he was reasonably sure that wasn’t the cause for the upbeat faces over at the green table.

“Ah yes, great news indeed.” Dumbledore smiled and turned to the Slytherin table. “I’m also happy to announce Professor Black agreed to take over the duty of the Head of Slytherin house.”

The clapping for the second announcement was much more hesitant, three-quarters of the school suddenly looking at the new professor with apprehension and worry. Harry even heard someone at the Gryffindor table remember that the man used to be a Death Eater and obviously must be related to the mass murderer Sirius Black.

The Slytherin table, however, looked as happy as before, leaving Harry puzzled. The man denounced Voldemort, defied him, even going as far as to betray him openly. Why would they be so damn happy about having to respect him of all people? Aside of the fact that maybe they weren’t as taken with Voldemort as he assumed before.

That option was something Harry had never considered before. Now it left him feeling flabbergasted. It also brought Malfoy’s behaviour at the train into the question. Just what was going on with the Slytherins?

“In addition, I would like to welcome back Professor Grubbly-Plank, who had graciously agreed to take over the Care of the Magical Creatures class until Professor Hagrid can return.”

Harry joined the polite, but not overly enthusiastic applause, while exchanging startled looks with Ron and Hermione. Where was Hagrid?

“I’m sure most of you have noticed an addition to the staff this year,” Dumbledore said, drawing attention to the woman in pink. Harry thought the headmaster sounded too pleasant to be very thrilled about the woman’s presence. What he said next all but confirmed Harry’s suspicion:

“Please welcome Mrs Umbridge, the Senior Under-Secretary of Minister Fudge. On his order, she’ll spend her time here assessing the teaching methods employed by various professors. While she is not technically a member of the staff and is, as such, not able to punish you herself, she  _ can _ and  _ will _ report any misbehaviour to the Heads of the Houses. I expect you to show her the respect you’d show to any other professor.”

There was a small polite applause for the woman, who didn’t bother to stand up. It soon died down, most of the students not overly interested in her. Instead, they all focused back at Dumbledore.

“Ehm, ehm,” Mrs Umbridge coughed in what she must have thought was a delicate fashion – Harry thought it made her sound pretentious and annoying – Interrupting Dumbledore before he could continue his speech. He turned to her briefly, then sat down, looking at her almost eagerly, as if there was nothing else he’d like to do more than listen to what she had to say. Harry was certain this wasn’t the case, however, and quietly admired the headmaster's ability to act.

The other professors weren’t as good as he was, however. Professor Sprout raised her eyebrow, giving the woman incredulous look, and Harry had never seen McGonagall’s lips so thin before. Professor Flitwick leaned forward to see the woman, looking incredibly put off. A quick glance around the hall told Harry that the students were just as shocked at seeing  _ anyone –  _ let alone some ministry nobody – interrupt Dumbledore.

“Thank you, headmaster, for your kind words of welcome.” The woman nodded at Dumbledore. She had this sickly sweet voice, that momentarily threw Harry back into the Wizengamot chamber. He decided he disliked the pink monstrosity that was slowly moving around the head table.

“It is beautiful to be back at Hogwarts, I must say. It’s always such a pleasure for us graduated to find a reason to return to this school,” she smiled widely.

Harry tilted his head. Was she serious? He looked around, seeing the rest of Gryffindors staring at her in confusion, a face mirrored by many students in the hall, especially at the Ravenclaw table.

“Why is she talking to us like we are five-year-olds?” he heard someone ask from the Hufflepuff table nearby and had to agree. He wasn’t sure if it was her intention, but Harry hadn’t met anyone so condescending before and he included Lockhart trying to teach him how to deal with being famous in that statement.

“I’m looking forward to getting to know you, as I’m sure we will all be very good friends.” Her eyes stopped at Harry, at least Harry thought she was staring at him, before looking away abruptly. He shot a worried look at Ron, feeling a chill run down his spine.

“The Ministry had always believed the education of young minds as the most vital of our responsibilities. You’ve been born with this gift, the gift of magic, that, if not honed and perfected, would be in waste. It is of utmost importance that the centuries-old knowledge and skills be passed down on younger witches and wizards. How wouldn’t it, when the other option is to lose our own history? It is the duty of the noble position of a professor to guard, sharpen, polish and pass on the knowledge to you, the young generation of the wizarding kind.”

Mrs Umbridge bowed slightly to the professors, none of them returning the gesture. Harry saw Professor McGonagall scowl at the woman’s back and exchange a telling look with professor Sprout. He noticed Professor Black whisper something to the Ravenclaw Head and the small professor nodded in agreement.

“Every headmaster and headmistress of Hogwarts brought something unique to the school, to the difficulties of running it. That is good, as, without progress, there is only stagnation and regression. However, progress purely for the sake of progress is in vain. We shouldn’t strive to lose valuable lessons taught and understood by our ancestors, merely perfect them, hone them and improve on them. For progress to be meaningful, there needs to be a balance. A balance between the new and the old, between tradition and modernism, between change and durability, between...”

Harry found himself to be zoning out dangerously, as the speech continued. His eyes snapped around, noticing the silence that had filled the room while Dumbledore had talked had disappeared. Students were whispering and muttering to each other. Cho Chang at the Ravenclaw table was openly talking to her friends. Luna had taken out The Quibbler and Ginny seemed to be asleep on the table. Even Malfoy over at the Slytherin table didn’t seem to be paying attention and one of his friends was reading a book, ignoring both Malfoy and Umbridge, prompting a surprised grin out of Harry. Ernie Macmillan at the Hufflepuff table was one of the few watching Mrs Umbridge, but even he didn’t appear to be truly listening. Neither was the other prefect of his house, as she was too busy giggling with her friends.

Yet, Mrs Umbridge continued to talk, seemingly oblivious to the complete disinterest of the students. Harry wondered whether she’d continue to speak if they all just left the room, like Binns would, but then he forced himself to listen to her words:

“...changes are unavoidable. They should not be feared, for they will always be here, they are a natural part of our lives. Of course, no change should ever be expected to be either good or bad. We can never tell if change is going to work before the change is implemented.”

Harry thought the entire speech sounded just like all the empty words the politicians in the muggle world kept repeating every time they were in the news. He remembered Uncle Vernon complaining about them more then once, his opinion being they were merely a waste of breath. Suddenly, Harry realized he agreed with him on something. And if that wasn’t a terrifying thought, he didn’t know what was.

He gave the woman a suspicious look. Something was very off about her. About the entire speech. About her presence at Hogwarts. He couldn’t quite catch the point of her speech, not having heard most of it, but he was sure that under the loads of crap was some real meaning.

Hermione was paying rapt attention, scowling and snarling, yet listening to everything she said. The professors were listening, even if they looked no more thrilled than Hermione. Harry took a special note of Professor Sprout looking positively outraged. 

“….so let us step forward, into a new era of openness, effectiveness and responsibility, with a clear intention to preserve the good, that needs to be preserved, improve, what needs and improvement, and eliminate all, that has no place in this era.”

Umbridge sat down. Dumbledore clapped. The teachers joined him after a moment of scolding their expressions. Most of them, however only gave a clap or two. The students barely noticed she stopped speaking, Harry only knew because he made an active effort to watch her after he realized he’d zoned out again.

Dumbledore stood up again, with a smile on his face. “Thank you, Mrs Umbridge, it was very enlightening. Now, as I was about to say, the quidditch try-outs...”

“Very enlightening indeed,” Hermione muttered through clenched teeth.

Ron raised an eyebrow at her. “It was possibly the most boring speech I’ve ever heard in my life, Hermione.”

“I said enlightening, not entertaining.”

Harry mulled that over in his head, not quite sure what was so interesting about the entire thing. It sounded like a lot of cotton to him, only there to fill the space.

“Well, Fudge certainly did know who to send,” Neville murmured. “I don’t think just anyone would be able to bore everyone quite this effectively.”

“You’re saying that as if that was the point of it.” Harry gave him a confused look.

Neville shrugged. “If no one listens to you, no one is going to oppose you.”

Harry blinked. That was surprisingly insightful. And he couldn’t say that Neville was wrong either. But if that truly was the intention, then what was the reason?

“Ministry is trying to interfere with Hogwarts.” Hermione nodded at Neville, apparently coming to the same conclusion.

“They can’t do that,” Ron said, sounding very sure of himself. Yet, Harry noticed his face was not as confident as his voice had been.

“They are going to try. It would certainly be advantageous...” Harry trailed off, wondering if they had the power to do so. Going against Dumbledore sounded insane at the best of times.

“The Hogwarts Charter shouldn’t allow it.” Ron shook his head.

“The Charter only holds as much power as the current headmaster and the Heads of the Houses,” Neville opposed.

Harry looked between them, confused, just like Hermione.

“What is a Hogwarts Charter?”

Both Neville and Ron stared at them, then glanced away, looking slightly ashamed. Neville gestured for Ron to explain.

“It is a document from when Hogwarts was founded, signed by the members of the Gathering of Lords and the king of that time – I have no idea who that is, don’t ask me. Basically it’s a set of rights, given to the school, the headmaster and the four Heads.”

Hermione looked intrigued. “What does it say?”

“A lot.” Ron shrugged. “I only know there are four parts. One about the school – that one is about...” he frowned, obviously trying to remember what exactly it said.

“About the ways the current form of government – the ministry – can or can’t interfere with the school and the repercussions of any of the laid down rules being broken,” Neville finished it for him. Ron nodded.

“Who is going to enforce them though?” Hermione questioned.

“Magic,” both Neville and Ron chimed together. They exchanged an amused look, before seeing Harry and Hermione’s blank expressions. Ron sighed.

“Think of it as an Unbreakable vow. If you break that, you die, because your magic will kill you. This is something similar.”

Harry and Hermione both nodded their understanding, although Hermione looked like she wished to discuss the whats and whys of it further.

“What about the other three parts?” Harry asked. This time, Neville answered.

“Second one is about the headmaster, his rights and duties. It establishes him as the person who holds all the power in the castle and on the lands. It is also here where it’s stated that it is the headmaster who holds the wards of Hogwarts. At last, it gives the stipulations and conditions for one to become the headmaster and it also states the conditions under which one can lose the position.”

Neville looked between them to see if they understood. “The third section is dedicated to the Heads of the Houses, their duties and their rights. Among other things it gives the Heads right to request investigation of child’s home life, ban a child from activities even if consented to by a parent or, when all four Heads are in agreement, veto the headmaster’s decision.”

Harry raised an eyebrow at that. McGonagall could have Dursley’s investigated? Why had she never done that, she knew he hated it there.

“The last section,” Neville continued, “speaks about other faculty members, such as the matron, the potions master, the groundskeeper, the librarian and others. Many of these are not in use today, or were joined into one position.”

“Why have I never heard of this?” Hermione scoffed.

Both Neville and Ron shrugged. “Don’t know.”

“It should be freely accessible in the library,” Neville told her, prompting a groan out or Ron.

“Do you think the Minister-” Harry got interrupted by the students getting up around them. Dumbledore had apparently let them go. 

“Ron! We have to show the first years the way.” Hermione tugged at Ron’s sleeve, when he turned to leave the hall.

“Right. Come over here firsties!” he shouted over the noise, just in case any of the little kids managed to wander off already, as they sat right next to them.

Harry and Neville left them to it, leaving the hall with the rest of the students. Harry caught sight of Malfoy and Parkinson rounding up Slytherin first-years, before the flow of people carried him to the grand staircase.

The two of them quietly made their way into the Gryffindor tower, only stopping at the portrait of the Fat Lady.

“Eeeh,” Harry said eloquently, when he remembered he was supposed to give her a password. He looked hopelessly at Neville, who smiled proudly.

“Mimbulus Mimbletonia,” he declared confidently and the portrait swung open. “Finally something I’m going to remember.”

They ran up the stairs to their dorm, finding Dean and Seamus already there, getting ready for bed.

“Hey, guys. How was your summer?” Harry asked, walking over to his bed.

“Not bad,” Dean said. “Much better than Seamus’ here.”

“Why? What happened?”

“Mom didn’t want to let me come here.”

Harry raised his eyebrows with a sinking feeling. If this was about the lies Daily Prophet was spouting off…

“Why’s that?” Neville asked, looking at their roommate with some confusion. “Is it because of Harry?”

Seamus shrugged. “Yes. Well, not only you,” he told Harry. “It’s Dumbledore too...”

Harry felt the cold feeling in chest settle. “She believes the Prophet, doesn’t she? She thinks I am a raving lunatic and a liar. And that Dumbledore is mad and senile.”

Seamus shot him a look.

“Well, yeah.”

Harry said nothing. He should have known. He had known. He was painfully aware of what would happen. It happened too often for him to not know. He’d even seen it that very night, people looking at him sideways, whispering when he walked by them. And he’d ignored it, like he always did. But sharing a room with one such person suddenly made it all the more real.

“What even happened? When Cedric Diggory… you know.”

Harry heard the tension from Seamus’ voice. Dean froze halfway through rummaging in his trunk, obviously listening. Neville froze as well, although Harry suspected that was for a different reason.

Harry thought about telling Seamus to read the Prophet like his mother, but decided against it. “Voldemort ordered Pettigrew to _ ‘kill the spare’.  _ He needed me for a ritual. He didn’t need Cedric.” He decided to leave it at that, not truly wanting to talk about it, especially not to Seamus.

“Pettigrew is dead, everyone knows that,” Seamus scowled.

Harry threw him an irritated look and he dropped his wand onto his end table. “You asked. I told you.”

“Well I didn’t expect you to make stuff up! At least make it believable, if you’re going to lie!”

“I’m not lying! You should have just read the Prophet like your mother if you don’t want to hear the truth!” Harry knew he stepped over the line with the other boy the moment he said the sentence.

“Leave my mother out of this!”

“Maybe she shouldn’t call Harry liar based on that tabloid,” Neville pointed out rather calmly.

Harry was surprised to hear him take his side. It’ wasn’t that he didn’t think Neville didn’t believe him, he just knew his godbrother preferred to not be at odds with people he shared a dorm with.

“Are you going to take his side? What, did he brainwash you as well!?”

“Shut up, Finnigan, before I curse you!” Harry grabbed his wand from where he left it and pointed it at Seamus. “Neville has nothing to do with this!”

“Neither does my mother!”

Harry supposed Seamus had a point. But he was not in a mood to be reasonable anymore. He was tired, his head hurt, he forgot he’d promised to see Madam Pomfrey and overall he felt like shit. And Seamus was not helping.

“Too fucking bad now isn’t it!? Neville at least wasn’t insulting anyone!”

“So my mother is no one to you now, Potter!?”

Harry didn’t bother thinking how on Earth Seamus came to that conclusion. “No, she’s just some random crazy woman who thinks that the stinking Prophet is the new Bible! Say, why don’t you ask McGonagall to change a room, so mommy can be content?”

“What’s going on here?” Ron’s voice cut through the room sharply, stopping Seamus from lunging at Harry.

“He’s insulting my mother!”

“WHAT!? Harry wouldn’t do that...”

“Well, he just fucking did!”

“Only because she’s worshipping the stupid Prophet’s crap!” Harry snapped, tossing his wand back at the end table. Ron’s face clearly said he understood. “AND this idiot here said I brainwashed Neville.”

“WHAT!? Seamus!” Ron’s ears were turning red, never a good sign.

“What? Are you telling me you believe that ramble about You-Know-Who as well!? You’re just as crazy as those two!” Seamus, unlike Ron, was going white. He waved his hand around, pointing at Harry and Neville.

“Really?” Ron spat out. “Unfortunately for you, I’m also the prefect, so keep your mouth shut if you don’t want detention.”

Seamus looked ready to continue the argument, but then merely snarled and closed the curtains around his bed.

“You have a problem with Harry too?” Ron turned to Dean, who watched the entire exchange quietly. He shook his head.

“Nah, mate. My parents are muggles. I’m not stupid enough to tell them about any deaths at Hogwarts.”

“My mom would get anything out of anyone,” Seamus mumbled from his bed, but no one responded, not wanting to start another round of argument.

Harry nodded at Ron, silently thanking his intervention. He sat down on the edge of his bed and stared at the floor silently. His heart was beating rapidly, the bangs echoing in his ears loudly. He gritted his teeth. Stupid Seamus. Believing the crap Prophet wrote. He wondered how many people would confront him about it until it blew over. How many unpleasant conversations and encounters like this one he’d have to suffer through.

He groaned silently and pulled the curtains around his bed shut, noticing everyone but Ron had done so already. Ron seemed to be getting ready for bed as well.

Harry lied down slowly. Dumbledore must have been dealing with this the whole summer – people telling him he was insane, old, questioning him and his decision to support such an outrageous claim. It was a miracle the man was not angry with him. Then again, he could always just take his word back…

Harry opened his eyes.  _ He  _ could take his word back. They’d stop writing about him if he did. Minister wouldn’t be so hell-bent on getting rid of him. People would stop snickering behind his back, avoiding him. Seamus would stop being a massive prick. No one would call him madman again.

Wouldn’t they though? Over two months he’d been claiming he’d seen Voldemort return. He had said Cedric was killed by Peter Pettigrew. If he changed his statement now, what would happen? He’d be seen as even more mentally deranged. Maybe if he blamed Dumbledore forcing him to-

He swatted the thought away forcefully. He wouldn’t,  _ couldn’t  _ blame the headmaster. For one, no one would believe the man forced him to say such outrageous things – well, no sane person anyway. For another, it was simply wrong. How did he come up with such an idea anyway?

No, he’d have to deal with this just like he’d dealt with it before. There was no point in trying to prove everyone wrong. He’d just stick to those who believed him, ignore the rest of them. Wait for it to blow over. Like when the house hated him in the first year for that hundred and fifty point loss. Like in second year, when everyone thought he was the Heir of Slytherin. Like last year, when he’d been ‘the cheat’, the liar, the one who always had to be the centre of attention. He scowled to himself. They knew nothing anyway. What did he care what they thought of him?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Comment? I annoyed myself writing out favourite pink monstrosity, I deserve some reward. Please? XD


	5. Professor Beltaine

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter was technically meant to come out tomorrow, but real life is making that impossible so you can have it a day early.

The school year began exactly as badly as Harry had thought it would – Seamus wasn’t the only Gryffindor to had bought the Prophet’s nonsense. Not by far. Actually, Harry rather thought he had lucked out with his roommates, as most of their year seemed to believe the newspaper to some degree. People hushed whenever he entered a room, kept questioning him or muttering insults at him when he walked by. Some of the younger years had taken to leaving the common room whenever he was there. Even Parvati, who Harry thought was a rather nice girl, was giving him cautious looks when she thought he didn’t see her.

All of that, however, had nothing on the very first morning after the welcoming feast when Alice – one of Hermione’s roommates – had shouted at him in the middle of the common room, woken up what seemed like the entire house, spat at him and told him he should be shipped off to a centre for mentally impaired. Harry, seriously agitated, had told her to go suck off the minister. Hermione had had to break up the fight, taking points from both of them – Harry wasn’t sure how many, he’d stormed out of the tower before she got that far.

The other houses were not much better; the only difference being that he didn’t have to deal with them outside classes. Unless, that is, some idiot like Finch-Fletchley or Hoppkins decided to start pushing at him in the hallway. That glorious encounter sent Finch-Fletchley into Hospital with a broken nose and left Hoppkins with glued mouth for a few days. Surprisingly, they chose not to inform anyone of it, as Harry didn’t get in trouble. He wasn’t sure how Finch-Fletchley got around telling Madam Pomfrey what exactly happened to his face.

Malfoy was another person who simply couldn’t keep his mouth shut. He walked around the school with his two idiotic sidekicks like a peacock, making snide comments every time Harry met him. Interestingly, Harry found Malfoy’s remarks didn’t anger him as much as when others said it. He joked he simply got used to Malfoy being an asshole, whereas the rest of the students were new to it. That was wrong, of course, as he well remembered Finch-Fletchley being an ass every time there had been a reason in the previous years.

Library and the Study hall, as it turned out, were an absolute hell to be in, being nearly as bad as the Gryffindor tower. People stared at him _all the time_. That alone wasn’t an issue – he’d gotten used to it after four years. No, what left him utterly dumbfounded was how the idiotic Ravenclaw girl tried to get him thrown out of the Library, because _‘his presence was distracting her’_ and she _‘couldn’t focus with that lunatic nearby’_. Harry almost cursed her then and there; only Ron telling him Madam Pince would probably manage that on her own stopping him.

Overall, it would be quite safe to assume Harry was not in the best mood the first few days of the school year. The quickly approaching Potions lesson had done nothing to ease his mind. Snape might not teach the class anymore, but that didn’t mean he’d suddenly stop being bad at the subject. Not Neville or Goyle’s level of bad, of course, but certainly not good. The mixed reactions to the new professor were enough to put him on edge.

On one hand, there were people like Collin, Fred and George, who went around praising the man. On the other, there were people like McLaggen and Barnes who detested him. One thing they all agreed on, however, was that his lessons were something else – a sentiment that no one bothered to elaborate upon, merely saying ‘you’ll see’ and shrugging it off.

As such, Harry was understandably on edge. He barely managed to sit still during McGonagall's questioning on Vanishing spell. His attempts at preforming said spell were even worse, not managing to vanish his snail at all. Instead he hit his Transfiguration book and vanished all the pages from it, leaving him with an empty cover. Professor McGonagall gave him such a disappointed look he didn’t touch his wand until the end of the lesson.

She let them go with a sheet of questions for homework until the next day, but he barely noticed, stuffing the parchment into his bag absent-mindedly and storming out of the classroom. He was being irrational, he knew, but Snape had been a stable presence for the past four years, along with the unbearable insults, favouritism and mocking. To see him gone so thoroughly was… disconcerting.

“It’s just Potions,” Ron pointed out to him while he paced before the classroom – the same classroom Snape used to teach in. “And we have fifteen minutes ‘till the lesson starts.”

Harry frowned to himself. Ron was right, they did have a lot of time, but Harry just couldn’t wait. Staying in one place was too much work. He turned sharply and walked down the corridor. Ron was leaning against the wall, watching him with raised eyebrows. Hermione was standing next to him, anxiously reading through the Potions textbook one more time. Harry snarled and paced the other way.

“Seriously you two, it’s just some guy.”

“It’s a professor, Ron!” Hermione huffed and turned the page. Ron shrugged in a very un-prefect-like fashion. 

“Still no need to sweat it.”

Harry came to a sudden halt and ran a hand through his hair. This was ridiculous. He needed to calm down, to find something to help take his mind off the impending lesson. He leaned against the wall opposite of Ron.

“Snuffles still hasn’t written back,” he said quietly, his voice echoing down the dungeons corridor nevertheless. 

“Really?” Hermione raised her head with a frown on her face. “I hope he hasn’t done anything stupid. Now is really not the time.”

Harry nodded. Three months and he’d be free if Lord Longbottom – Frank, he corrected himself – was right and managed to pull the strings at the Ministry.

He glanced into the darkness that hid the far end of the corridor leading down to the Slytherin common room and the rest of dungeons. Dumbledore hadn’t said anything about it. True Harry wasn’t supposed to know, but surely there would be some sort of warning to avoid dungeons if the Death Eaters were still there.

Ron followed his look and frowned. “Bloody stupid idea,” he muttered under his breath, but his voice still carried through the hall loudly.

Hermione looked between them and then down the corridor. Sudden understanding dawned on her face as she remembered. She scowled. Harry still remembered the quiet astonishment when they had filled her in on that tidbit of information.

They stood in silence, the chilly air of the dungeons creeping under their robes with ease. September wasn’t supposed to be that cold, Harry thought. Not even in Scotland, nevermind the horrible weather of the previous days.

It wasn’t too long before they heard footsteps approaching them. Unfortunately, they seemed to be coming from deeper in the dungeons, so Harry wasn’t surprised when instead of Neville’s friendly face he saw a bunch of Slytherins approaching them. He sighed gently and looked up onto the ceiling.

“Potter! Can’t wait to blow up another cauldron?” Malfoy’s biting voice rang around the corridor. Harry resisted the urge to hit Ron in the face when he saw him try, and fail, to hide his grin.

“That’s more Goyle’s thing though, isn’t it?” he shot back, seeing the boy in question glare at him. Harry was a bit taken aback to see a reaction from him. He’d never seen him do something without Malfoy telling him to before, let alone say anything – and he very much looked ready to spit insults at him.

“Still hasn’t beaten Longbottom’s record,” another of the Slytherins noted dryly. “Where is the rest of you anyway? Hiding in McGonagall’s office?”

Harry shrugged, not knowing where the rest of Gryffindors spent their break – not that he cared.

“What’s with you? Lost your tongues?” Parkinson asked when neither Ron or Hermione responded to the boy. “Wait, don’t tell me. You’ve managed to vanish each other’s tongues, didn’t you?” She laughed with the other Slytherins.

“McGonagall must be so proud. Her favourite lions no less!”

Harry wondered how Parkinson even knew what lesson they had. He sure as hell didn’t know what the Slytherins had.

“Shut up, all of you!” Hermione snapped at them and slammed her book shut. 

“Look at that she does speak! Is it just Weasel then?” Malfoy turned to Ron with a smirk on his face.

“Don’t call me that!” Ron growled, his ears turning red. Harry suddenly had a very bad feeling about the turn this conversation was taking. Luckily just at that moment, the rest of Gryffindor house turned up and Seamus wasted no time getting into an argument with Malfoy. 

Harry slipped at the very back of the group to stand with Neville, feeling no inclination to point out that Malfoy was now a prefect. Neither did anyone else.

“Mum said they knew Professor Black was alive,” Neville whispered to him. “Apparently, he was at the hospital with whoever it was that healed them.”

Harry frowned at that. Random person turning up with the knowledge of how to heal the Longbottoms was strange, but having a supposedly dead man with them? That was downright suspicious.

“They think whoever it was must have helped or saved him as well,” Neville continued while Seamus was screaming bloody murder at Malfoy, who seemed to be on the verge cursing him.

“I don’t like this. This person coming out of nowhere, people before out now suddenly coming back.” Harry shook his head.

“It’s like someone is setting up a new chessboard,” Ron said next to them quietly, making them both jump. When had he joined them?!

Neville nodded. The argument in front of them had got to the point where Hermione decided she had to break it up. Now Seamus was screaming at her instead of Malfoy. Harry wasn’t quite sure how long it would take for someone, anyone, to curse the boy.

“What’s wrong with Seamus?” Harry wondered quietly. The boy had always been bad-tempered, but this few days it had been beyond any reason. “He’s arguing with everyone. Even Dean.”

The other two boys shrugged. Who knew what was going on in his head.

Just as it looked Hermione was going to snap and take points from him, the door to the Potion labs opened.

“Now what’s with the shouting here,” Professor Beltaine asked, leaning forward slightly. “Come on in.”

Harry followed the rest of his classmates inside. His usual seat at the back of the class was already taken by a bunch of Slytherins. He sighed and sat in front of them, resigning himself to their mocking through the year – he would not sit at the front. Not in Potions of all things.

The professor sat behind his table – not that you’d know he was sitting just from looking at him; he was still towering over everyone in the room – and took a parchment from it. He started a roll call. Harry was trying really hard to pay attention to anything, but the man’s choice of clothing, but it was proving to be insanely difficult. Especially with Ron next to him gawking at his shirt and the Slytherin girls behind him whispering about it constantly.

“What is he wearing?” Ron hissed in the end, looking between Harry and Hermione. Neville looked just as confused and a lot more appalled. Harry sighed and, dropping his head onto the table, refused to answer.

“It’s called Hawaiian shirt,” Hermione whispered back with a pained expression.

“Do muggles… normally wear that?” Neville watched the man with rather revolted look. Harry wondered whether he found the shirt weirder than walking around in robes in his free time – thing that a lot of purebloods did as Harry’d noticed in previous years.

Hermione shook her head vigorously. “No. Well, it depends. But no.” Harry was sure neither of their friends understood what she meant, but he had no desire to discuss muggle fashion with them. Although, someone _should_ explain it to Beltaine, if the shirt was any indication. Wasn’t the man cold anyway? The dungeons were _freezing_.

“Fifth years, are you? Well, I think I should introduce myself. I’m Professor Beltaine and I’ll be your Potions professor for this year and for the rest of your time at Hogwarts if you decide to take the NEWTs class,” the man spoke in a deep voice. He remained seated. 

“Now, I don’t know you or your brewing skills, so we’ll be starting with a small experiment.” Professor Beltaine picked up a book that Harry recognized as a fourth-year Potions textbook. He flipped through it lazily. 

“Last year you’ve studied the Calming Draught. We’ll be brewing it today. You can come look at the recipe here, if you need, but you’ll be working alone.” He placed the book. “The ingredients are in that cupboard. Get started.”

Harry exchanged looks with Ron. Brew alone. Potion he’d last seen in January. With one recipe for the entire class. He was going to fail.

He caught Neville’s panicked look. It seemed they were not the only one realizing how badly this lesson was going to go. Professor Beltaine was looking them over with a slight grin playing on his lips. He found it amusing, didn’t he? Harry scowled and nudged Ron, who didn’t seem to notice.

“Wait until the explosions start going off. He’s not gonna find it so bloody funny then,” Ron spat quietly.

Harry nodded in agreement and got up, approaching the book at the front – he had no idea which ingredients he’d need. It appeared that very few people did. He pushed through the crowd gathered by Beltaine’s table and looked over Brown’s shoulder. He scanned the list, feeling rather pleased about not being the shortest person in their entire year anymore. Sure he was still on the short side, but not _the shortest._

He picked some ingredients from the cupboard and squinted on the rest of the labels. It took him a moment to decipher the system on the jars; it had nothing in common with Snape’s. He assumed CCH stood for crocodile heart – he hoped it did – and returned to his table.

He looked over the different ingredients set before him and sighed, having no idea what to do with any of them. He dragged his cauldron to the sinks, filling it with water, while contemplating how to avoid a potential explosion. He couldn’t possibly check the book after every step.

Placing the cauldron on the heater he grabbed a sheet of parchment and approached the front again. He stood behind some Slytherin boys, hiding the parchment and his wand behind their backs. 

“Duplicā scripturam,” he whispered and pointed at the book with his wand. He then placed the tip on the sheet. One quick look later he saw the entire page copied onto his spare parchment and cheered mentally. He retreated to his workspace.

He placed the recipe on the desk and grabbed the first ingredient, turning on the fire under his cauldron. He could do this. Maybe not well, but it would not explode this time around. It would not.

“That’s cheating,” Hermione hissed at him from her seat, a scowl on her face.

Harry shrugged. “He never said we couldn’t do it,” he pointed out, while being certain that Professor Beltaine would not approve of what he was doing. Hermione rolled her eyes and turned back to her potion without another word. Harry grinned slightly, keeping his head down in case Belatine would notice, and nudged Ron who just sat down. He moved the parchment over the table, placing it between them. He watched as Ron scanned it with a confused look and brightened up when he realized what it was. They might not fail horribly.

Harry almost jumped out of his skin when he heard the sound of a guitar ring through the class, immediately joined by drums. He looked up in confusion, his eyes darting around the room, looking for the source of the music – because it was music. His sight landed at the piece of equipment at the teacher’s desk – he recognized it as magical radio, just like the one he’d seen Mrs Weasley use back at the Burrow. It was playing. And if he wasn’t mistaken it was playing country.

He heard Hermione groan and glanced at her just in time to see her bury her head in her hands. “Oh my god, of course. Of course he does,” she was muttering under her breath. Both Ron and Neville – along with almost a half of their classmates – were looking around confused, or staring at the man in shock. The vocals started. Harry rubbed his neck and grimaced. He forced himself to turn back to the plant he’d been cutting. He could ignore it. It wasn’t that horrible. He could make it through that lesson.

He finished cutting the lavender and dropped it into the boiling water. He picked up another ingredient, keeping a close eye on the liquid time bomb in front of him. Lavender shouldn’t explode on its own, but he was pretty sure that once he got around to adding the damn Valerian roots it would be only a matter of time until it blew up in his face.

The potion turned a rather nice shade of purple. Harry almost fell sorry when he threw in the still a bit muddy roots. Was he supposed to clean them? Yes. Did he remember it _before_ he started crushing them? Of course not. A bit of mud had never killed anyone anyway.

Harry was several ingredients in when he heard a telltale hissing from his right. He covered slightly, already knowing what was to come, and winced when a loud bang echoed through the classroom. The music was cut abruptly. A piece of violently pink substance landed mere inches from his hand making him jump. He looked inside Neville’s cauldron and sure enough, it was mostly empty, only a tiny amount of liquid, hissing, spitting and bobbling at the very bottom. Neville himself looked fine; with half frustrated – half resigned expression on his face. He was staring at the cauldron with slumped shoulders.

“What’s that, Neville?” Professor Beltaine got to his feet. He approached them, investigating the mess Neville had produced. “You added the Peppermint two steps early, young man. Why is that? You could’ve looked at the recipe.”

Neville shrugged helplessly and tried to explain that he sucks at Potions and really, reading the recipe would not help him at all. In the meantime, Harry hid the copied parchment under his textbook.

“There is no such thing as ‘just bad at Potions’ I’m afraid. It’s all about learning different properties and combinations of ingredients and how they react together. For example Peppermint compresses the liquid, an effect that doesn’t sit well with the Valerian roots, causing an explosion-”

“I didn’t know that,” Neville muttered, interrupting the professor.

“You covered this potions last year, Professor Snape must have told you about it – it´s the most common mistake people make.”

“We never covered the properties of ingredients. It was more… “brew this” type of lessons,” a voice said from somewhere in the classroom; Harry wasn’t quite sure who’d spoken, being too preoccupied with slowly stirring the Rose oil into the potion without having it overflow like it had the previous year.

He still risked a quick glance at Beltaine, who was frowning unhappily at seeing the rest of the class nod along.

“We’ll have to remedy that. As soon as possible.” He looked at the remains of Neville’s potion. “Evanesco.” The pink mass disappeared, leaving only smeared filth at the walls of the cauldron. “Finish your potions. We’ll-”

He didn’t get to end his sentence, as another loud explosion banged in the classroom, this time from somewhere in the front. It was followed by a shout of pain and a high-pitched yell off horror. Beltaine was standing by Goyle in a second, looking him over.

“Young man,” A pause as he couldn’t recall the name. “Vincent! Take your classmate to the Hospital wing. Immediately.” Harry was impressed he remembered at all.

Crabbe shuffled over from his seat, pushing Goyle through the class. Harry could see his hands and face getting bright red, inflamed. He winced. That was not a good sign. Even Ron next to him grimaced instead of snickering like he normally would. 

“Fucking hell,” he muttered and Harry nodded in agreement. It didn’t happen often someone got hit in the face with a ruined potion, but when it did, it was nasty. He caught a glimpse of Seamus smirking. How very funny, he scowled.

Harry turned back to his potion that was nearing the edge of cauldron dangerously, while Beltaine examined Crabbe’s potion. He grabbed the prepared Peppermint and tossed it in, quickly stirring it in. He watched the potion shrink, now only coming up to the half, proving Professor Beltaine to be right. Harry hummed. Maybe Potions weren’t complete trial and error after all.

The music started again and Harry sighed. He threw an agitated look at the professor’s desk. It was not helping. Neither was Beltaine; pacing between the students, inspecting their cauldrons and offering advice.

Harry looked around, his potion simmering. The man was standing over the girls behind him, explaining some part of the potion to them. Harry’s hand itched. He needed to know what the next step was! His copy of the recipe was out of question, he wouldn’t risk that. He shot a look at the front table. He could go and look there, but the thought of leaving the potion unsupervised sent shivers down his spine.

“Add few strings of crocodile heart, Harry,” professor Beltaine said directly behind him, making him flinch violently. He scrambled to grab the correct jar and pulled the entire heart out. He tore several strings from it with his own fingers, old blood running down his hand, under his sleeve. Beltaine sighed quietly and straightened up. Only then Harry remember the metal scissors in his Potions set that were presumably meant for this task. He dropped the ingredient into the cauldron with a resigned groan. He didn’t think the house-elves would appreciate if he wiped his hand into his cloak.

The potion started turning a very dark shade of purple, attracting Harry’s attention. Beltaine had already moved away and he chanced a look into his recipe. _Let simmer until it turns dark blue and take off fire. Bottle while hot._ Harry glanced back at his liquid. It was not dark blue, but maybe the colour would change later on. He hoped it would. Then again, it hadn’t exploded yet so it was already much better than ever before.

He started packing up the leftover ingredients, quietly wondering how long would it take to get rid of the blood on his hands. He stuffed the heart back into the jar and chanced a look around the class. It seemed everyone else was finishing as well. Except for Neville, who was sitting on his chair dejectedly, his hands crossed, glaring at his cauldron.

Harry took the potion off the fire when he noticed it started turning brown. His eyes jumped between his potion and Hermione’s, which was deep blue colour and actually liquid consistency. Ron’s was very, very red. One glance around the room showed him only Malfoy, Greengrass and one other Slytherin boy got blue colour out of it. Well, he supposed Parvati’s wasn’t that far off too. The sight of Fay’s bright green paste made him feel much better about his own brown half-water.

“Clean your workspace and bottle it up!” Professor Beltaine called, tuning down the music. “Hand in your result and you’re dismissed!” 

Suddenly there was much noise in the class, people getting up from their seats, shuffling to the front. Harry pressed his vial into Ron’s hand and went to dump the rest of his potion into the drain at the back. It left small lumps of brown substance all over the cauldron walls. Harry made face – he would not want to be the person having to clean that – and moved back to his place to grab his things. Ron was dumping his own attempt at Calming Draught so Harry grabbed his bag as well and scurried out of the lab.

Ron quickly joined him and took his bag. He started walking down the hall towards the stairs. 

“Aren’t we waiting for Hermione?” Harry asked, standing in front of the class indecisively.

“She’s talking with Beltaine. Come on, before Seamus or Malfoy turn up. She knows where to look for us.”

Harry threw a look at the door. Hermione was talking with the new professor for some reason. Something schoolwork related probably. That usually took long. He rushed after Ron. He wanted to get some rest before heading to the History, even if that class was bound to suck any energy right out of him.

***

Thursday was not a bad day. Harry only had three lessons before lunch and completely free afternoon to spend however he wanted. It was also the second-worst day of a week, one of those lessons being History of Magic with Binns and one being Potions. Granted, Potions hadn’t gone that horribly, but History of Magic was just as boring in the fifth year as the previous years.

Harry was sitting in his place near the middle of the classroom, his feet kicked up on the table, the back of his chair leaning against the desk behind him. He was scribbling down answers on his Transfiguration homework to pass time until the end of the lesson.

Ron next to him seemed to be asleep on his table, black splodge on his cheek, while Hermione in front of him was taking notes, yawning widely. She was sitting with Padma Patil – Ravenclaw prefect from their year. Padma – the much more likeable Patil twin, as far as Harry was concerned. It wasn’t that he didn’t like Parvati, but well, she was still quite upset about the Yule ball fiasco from the previous year.

“How many Goblin wars were there in our history?” Neville whispered behind him.

“Way too many,” the girl – Nandini – next to him responded. 

Harry snickered and turned to them. “It’s the last year of this.”

Neville nodded happily, then crossed something in his notes and wrote different word above it in illegible size. Nandini just sighed. “I’m gonna take NEWTs in History if I get enough OWLs.

Harry blinked. “Why?”

She shrugged. “So I can come back a few years later, kick Binns out and make this subject actually interesting.” She glared at the ghost in question. “Also it’s an easy NEWT if you have a good head for years.” She grinned. “Which I do.”

Harry shook his head. Take NEWTs in History willingly, he’d have to be crazy!

“Look, Seamus is glaring at us,” Neville pointed out under his breath. Harry rolled his eyes and sent the other boy a small salute. Seamus turned away with a scowl.

“Stop provoking him, Harry, please,” Neville rolled his eyes. “It’s childish.”

Harry sighed and Nandini snickered. “Aren’t you gonna get shit for talking to me? From the other girls?”

Nandini snorted. “And what’s Fay gonna do? Lock me out of our room? I’m sure McGonagall would be delighted if she did that.”

Harry grinned at the image of Professor McGonagall in dressing gown and hair net unlocking the door to girl’s dorm at midnight and taking hundred and fifty points from someone who wasn’t him for the first time in five years.

“I’ve got Muggle studies after lunch, but we can see Sprout after?” Nandini suggested to Neville, and Harry took it as his cue to leave them alone. He was not interested in whatever plant Sprout was giving them additional lessons on.

“Tempus,” Harry cast and, seeing as it was almost the end of the lesson, dropped his feet to the ground. He kicked Ron’s chair to wake him up and started packing his things. He hadn’t taken any notes, he never did, but that didn’t matter all that much. Either Hermione or Neville would lend him theirs.

He was out of the class with the first ring of the bell and aimed straight for the Great Hall, Ron short on his heels. Hermione followed them at a much more sedate pace. They arrived among the first and grabbed a seat as far away from the head table as humanly possible.

“So where are we staying today?” Hermione asked while she loaded her plate.

“Not in the common room,” Ron muttered.

“Or the library, or the Study Hall,” Harry added. He stabbed a piece of potato. His classmates were being stupid. It was not his fault the minister was a piece of shit who didn’t see what was right in front of him. He could testify under Veritaserum for crying out loud!

“We really need someplace to hang out without being watched by half the school,” Hermione sighed. 

“What do I hear here, brother?” a voice asked as a red-headed teenager sat down next to Harry.

“I don’t know. What do you hear, brother?” the same looking person responded, sitting down next to Hermione.

“Fred, George,” Harry greeted them in the order they arrived. They both frowned at him, annoyed.

“I hear fellow conspirators looking for a private place, brother.”

“Do you consider helping them, brother?”

“I don’t know, should I, brother?”

“Why do you keep calling each other ‘brother’?” Hermione interrupted their exchange. The twins shared a look.

“Because we are!” they exclaimed together, making Hermione groan. Harry laughed. What did she expect? An actual answer? Harry was pretty sure it would be _‘it annoys people’_ anyway.

“What did you say about that private place?” Ron asked before they could go back to their usual antics.

The twins threw a look over their shoulders. “We will tell you,” Fred started.

“If you hold onto something for us,” George finished.

“Hold on to what?” Hermione squinted her eyes. Harry followed suit. The twins were being extremely fishy and he didn’t think they were over the dung-bomb prank he and Ron had blamed them from during the holidays. Of course, it had been mostly forgotten in the catastrophic aftermath, but still.

“Just a little something we’re working on. We want to test how it reacts to potions fumes. And since you have Potions on Monday, well...”

“It’s not going to explode, is it?” Harry wondered.

Both twins shook their heads vigorously. “No, no, no, nothing like that. We just want to see if it works afterwards.”

Harry exchanged looks with his friends. Even for the twins, this was incredibly suspicious. The entire matter sounded very shady. Almost as if they just didn’t want to get caught with whatever it was.

“Alright, what is it?” Ron nodded at them. They grinned victoriously and George pulled something long and brown out of his bag.

“This is our experimental wand. We stuffed some liquid healing paste in. We want to see if it breaks if it comes in contact with other potions. The worst thing that can happen is that you’ll have healing balms all over your bag.”

“You put a healing paste… inside a fake wand...” Hermione repeated. They nodded. “Why would you do that?” She couldn’t quite keep the incredulity out of her voice.

“Well, you see, they are currently stored in bottles as a liquid and if you want to use them, it’s a mess. Putting them in a tube like this will make using them much easier.”

“Still, why a wand?” Harry had to agree. Wands were too long to be exactly convenient either. He eyed the one they were waving around suspiciously.

They both shrugged. “No one is going to steal a wand,” George pointed out.

“I’d like to see the madman who’d steal something of yours,” Harry shook his head. “Sure, whatever, I’ll take it.” He grabbed the fake wand from George’s hand and pushed down the bad feeling in his stomach. “Now, that room?”

The twins grinned at him. “Why of course, my good sir, the room.”

“Yes indeed, the room, the one and only.”

Harry fought the urge to hit both of them and settled for glaring. Couldn’t they be serious for once in their lives?

“Sorry, sorry,” Fred rolled his eyes. “The room we speak of is not even on the map. At least we never saw it there.”

“Maybe the creators never found it?” George theorized.

“Perhaps, but that’s not important. What’s important is where it is.” Fred leaned in, casting a short look over his shoulder. “You need to go on the first floor, into the Tapestry Corridor. There is a tapestry of Bavarian Erklings there. You merely need to say the password.”

“So what’s the password?” Ron urged them.

They exchanged looks. “Follow us, our lovely song, know that we can do no wrong.”

Hermione raised her eyebrow. “Is that a rhyme?”

“Erkling song,” Ron corrected. “Part of it at any rate. Mum used to scare us with it when we were kids.”

Harry smirked at Ron. “Did it work?”

“Who else can get into that room?” Hermione asked loudly, trying to drown out Ron’s spluttering.

“Just the five of us, but we don’t use it much anymore. We found,” they lowered their voices, “a better place.” They got up and left to join Lee right after. Harry watched them for a long while with a suspicious expression. None of this sounded right.

“We check it out after lunch?” He asked and glanced between his friends. Ron was still bright red, while Hermione just looked exasperated. Whether it was his fault or the twins’ he didn’t know.

“Sure. I have to be on time for Ancient Runes though,” she agreed.

“Don’t worry, it’s basically in the middle of the castle from the sound of it. Just get your books before we go.” Harry waved his hand. There were far more inconveniently placed rooms in the castle. The Gryffindor common room, for one.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As I disclaimer: I do not speak Latin nor did I study it so it is possible the Latin of this chapter´s spell and any other spell going forward is shoddy at best, however, I am rather sure the canon Latin is not exactly good either and I did spend considerable time trying to figure out how Latin imperatives work. Still, feel free to drop by and suggest other translations (with an explanation of why you consider it better, of course).


	6. Pranksters’ revenge

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Let it never be said that the Weasley twins aren´t petty.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well, I have not slept tonight. Thankfully this chapter was written and mostly edited BEFORE the insomnia intensified.

The Bavarian Erklings tapestry was not difficult to find, possibly because it was one of the biggest ones in the corridor. It was overall a very dark gobelin depicting four green erklings gathered around a human child deep in a forest. They had decisively feral expressions, showing off their sharp teeth. Harry was only happy that this particular picture was an immobile tapestry and not a moving painting.

“This is… disturbing,” Hermione let out in a strangled voice. The colour had drained out of her face.

“If the inside is anything like this,” Ron said, “I think I’ll just go back to the common room.”

Harry snorted. “And apologize to Seamus?”

Ron pulled a face. “Let’s go in.”

Harry chanted the password, looking around cautiously. He did not wish for anyone to see them entering a secret room. He didn’t want anyone to see them at all, but that had never been a possibility at Hogwarts before.

They watched as the tapestry melted into the wall, revealing a portrait. It was a typical Hogwarts’ hidden-doorway portrait with golden frame, showing a single person. 

The person – a man – in his early forties, if Harry were to guess his age, sat on a throne-like chair made of dark wood; thick tomes and ancient-looking scrolls carefully placed onto the bookshelves behind him. He seemed tall, but most paintings did when having no one to compare against. He wore a black cloak with a silver pin shaped as a dragon. His pale skin contrasted strongly with his jet black hair, held back by a deep purple ribbon. Silver eyes stared at the three students piercingly from under a loose bang falling in his face.

“This is a surprise. Pray tell, who are you?” His voice sounded smooth and pleasant, although his tone screamed of danger and suspicion. He wore a distant look on his face, but his eyes spoke of a sharp mind and quick wit. Only a madman would cross this man. Harry liked to believe he was not one.

“We’re Gryffindor students. My brothers sent us here,” Ron said, recovering remarkably fast for someone who’d just received the shock of their life. He was eyeing the portrait with so much suspicion he could be expecting the man to leap out at any moment and stab them.

The man quirked his eyebrow. “Your brothers? Would those be the devil twins?”

Harry snorted, attracting the man’s look. He shrugged briefly and glanced at Ron, whose suspicion gave way to amusement.

“That sounds like them, yeah.”

“Excuse me, but who are you?” Hermione asked, watching the man with a tilted head.

“I’m afraid I asked first, young lady.”

Hermione blushed. Harry arched his brows, giving her a sly grin. Hermione blushing? He’d last seen that when she spoke with Viktor. He turned to the portrait and gestured at themselves.

“My name is Harry Potter and these are my friends, Hermione Granger and Ron Weasley,” he introduced them. “Fifth years, Gryffindor house,” he added, not sure how up to date the portrait was. Considering his placement, not very.

The man bowed his head slightly with raised corners of his mouth. “Pleasure to meet you. Remont Selwyn, at your service.”

Harry nodded back at him politely only to hear Hermione gasp and stare at the portrait in shock. He scrunched his forehead, tilting his head to the side. She had certainly recognized the name.

“ _ The  _ Remont Selwyn?” she asked, clear excitement colouring her voice. “You’re contemporary to the founders!”

“Yes.”

Harry’s jaw dropped. A simple answer, for a simple question. Yet extremely inadequate for the big mystery that suddenly sprung up around the man in the painting. He’d lived at the same times as the founders did! He’d probably seen Hogwarts being founded. He might have been there – and from Hermione’s reaction, he certainly had. Then again, why else would he have a portrait in the castle? 

“Why is your portrait hidden behind a tapestry?” Ron asked, breaking the amazing moment of truth for Hermione and earning himself a scowl.

“You mean other than the fact that I am a contemporary to the founders of this place?” There was a slight pause, in which Harry realized how annoying it would be to have people ask him about people he had known. For centuries; always the same questions, the same prejudices.

“I’m guarding a secret, of course. The true… eh… Chamber of Secrets, you could say,” the man finished with a slight smirk, making Harry wonder how much he  _ did  _ know about them.

“The twins said there’s a room behind this tapestry,” Ron nodded, changing the topic and giving the man an intense stare. Hermione’s shoulders slumped, her chance of learning something new about the history of the castle gone. Hopefully she wouldn’t try to force them to read Hogwarts: A History again.

“Does it look like there is a room here?”

Harry smirked with a light chuckle. “Yes, actually. All the ‘hidden’ portrait doors,” he gestured the air quotes, “look a bit like this.” He glanced pointedly at the golden frame and the height of the painting. “They are not usually this talkative though,” he added as an afterthought.

The man… pouted? Harry bit back a laugh at such a childish expression on a grown man. A thousand years old painting.

“I’m afraid you’ll still need the password.”

“Follow us, our lovely song, know that we can do no wrong,” Hermione recited confidently.

Selwyn laughed. “That is not correct.” Hermione looked taken aback and blanched. 

“My brothers haven’t told us another password. They haven’t even told us there’s a fucking painting here.”

Hermione gave Ron a nasty glare and jabbed him into his side harshly. “Language, Ronald!”

Harry rolled his eyes at them and looked around for any clues about what the portrait could want.

“I can’t let you in without a password.”

“You let the twins in!” Ron called. His voice carried down the hall, earning him a glare from both Harry and Hermione. They did not want anyone to come across them. Neither did Selwyn, if his previous words held any merit.

“The two devils had a password.”

“Do you know how they got it?” Harry asked before Ron could attract more attention with his shouting.

Selwyn snorted. “Of course.” There was an expression on his face that set Harry on edge. Not the kind that warned from danger, mind, more the kind that warned from impending frustration.

“Well?” Hermione prompted him when it became obvious he would not continue.

“Well, what?”

Harry took a deep breath and rubbed his forehead. Selwyn reminded him of Dumbledore. A lot. Except Dumbledore spoke in riddles because he liked it. Selwyn probably just enjoyed having company after who knows how long – he hoped at least.

“Will you tell us how they got it?” he asked patiently, feeling anything but.

He was rewarded by a cheeky grin. “I told them.”

Harry groaned. He should’ve known. He glanced at his friends to check they had heard the same response as he. They had – Ron was developing a tick in his eye and Hermione was looking up at the ceiling with clearly irate expression.

“Will you tell us too?” she asked.

The man shrugged. “Depends on why you want to get in?”

Harry had never met a portrait who cared about that, but somehow it was fitting that a portrait of a man who knew the founders would be an infuriating piece of shit. He opened his mouth to answer something neutral, but was beat to it by Ron.

“Because being anywhere else in the castle is a giant fucking bother, that’s why! The dumb shits just keep fucking staring at us all day long! You’re a lunatic, Potter! Stop lying, Potter! You just want attention, Potter! Are you brainwashed, Weasley? Hey, it’s the mind-damaged squad! They have no fucking idea just how much fucking shit we’ve fucking seen in the four Merlin damned years in this place!” Ron ranted, the bottled-up stress of the past few days pouring out. He took a deep breath and Harry saw him forcefully clamp his mouth shut to stop himself from launching into another tirade.

Selwyn looked between the three of them silently, his face betraying no thought. For the first time, Harry wondered what he saw, what they had to look like. A lanky redhead with bloodshot eyes and ink on his face; a short black girl with smudged mascara and bitten nails; and a scrawny kid with rat’s nest instead of hair, broken glasses and dark circles under his eyes. Truly, a sight to behold.

“It’s Peerage,” he said finally with a soft sigh. 

Ron nodded. His ears coloured pink, clear remnant of his outburst. Harry wondered how many of those they’d witness that year. He hoped to avoid them, but it seemed most of the castle was set on infuriating his friend. Although, Ron mostly just got angry on his behalf the past few days. And Harry himself might hold a tiny bit of the guilt for that – his temper had been betraying him.

“Before I let you in though,” Selwyn told them, his voice suddenly much more serious. “I need your word that you will not reveal anything you see inside to anyone.” he fixed them with an intent gaze that left no room for an argument.

Harry looked at him suspiciously. “Why not?”

“It’s not yours to tell,” the man stared right into his eyes determinedly, his chin lifted, back straight.

Harry regarded him with a long look. Hypothetically, the painting would gain nothing from hurting them – not that he could imagine how it would even go about it. The twins had been there, so hypothetically, nothing too dangerous should be there. Hypothetically.

“You have it,” he said clearly. Somehow it felt as if the simple sentence held so much more meaning than he had intended. A strange feeling blossomed in his chest, almost like responsibility weighing down on him. He wasn’t sure if he liked it or not.

“I promise,” Hermione agreed; her lips pursed, forehead wrinkled. Ron merely nodded; jaw clenched.

Selwyn looked them over, before nodding once. “Come on in, then.” The painting sprung open, inside the wall, revealing a dark hole about the size of a big door.

Harry swallowed the lump in his throat and looked between his friends. They had the entrance. A room where they could be alone and safe. Well, as safe as any room where the twins had access could be.

Taking a deep breath, Harry stepped through the doorway. He took a tender step forward, deeper into the darkness, to allow Ron and Hermione inside as well. He couldn’t see anything. The door behind them shut quietly. 

Harry grabbed his wand from his pocket. He felt something like breeze in his hair. His heartbeat rapidly against his chest, his fingers went ice cold. Were they in danger? Did Selwyn lure them into a trap? Thousand theories ran through his mind in a single moment.

“Relax, it’s adjusting to your magic,” a disembodied voice said from somewhere to the side. Was it Selwyn? It sounded like Selwyn.

Loud bang broke through the silence of the room. Harry jumped and swirled around, looking for the source. At first, he saw nothing. Then he faced away from the entrance, where light cracks highlighted the door, and it was there. Shimmering, swirling with different shades of purple, maybe the size of a fist, an orb hanged mere inches from his face, its enticing glow catching Harry off guard. It filled the void with a low rumble coming from deep inside, but the darkness around it stayed as thick as it had been.

Harry’s jaw dropped, his fingers releasing the death grip on his wand. His shoulders relaxed, and he let out the breath he’d been holding. Suddenly he felt calm, peaceful, like one would feel at home. It was not dissimilar to being under Imperius. Eyes glued to the colourful ball, he reached out to touch it with his free hand.

He knew, at the back of his mind, it was a terrible idea. But his thoughts were clouded by a welcoming mist, small tidal waves washing away all his worries. All the pain, the fear, the tension left him, leaving him light-headed. It was wrong beyond belief.

His fingers submerged into the purple matter in front of him, a strange feeling washing over him – as if he’d stuck his hand into a bowl of soft autumn breeze. The sensation climbed up his arm onto his torso, right into his chest. He felt something sting inside of him, then itch, until his entire arm flared up. It was gone in a blink as was the orb.

He stood there, blinking dumbly at his hand raised in front of him, while the darkness around him disappeared. The room came into focus, now light and looking perfectly normal. He let his arm drop at his side and looked around, his mind fuzzy, head empty.

The room was small and cosy, of circular shape. Tall windows let in plenty of sunshine, illuminating the room with natural light, rendering the golden chandelier useless for the moment. The curtains, pulled to the sides, looked to had had morning cappuccino spilt over them with their irregular pattern and light brown colour. The walls, painted dark green, were filled with posters of Chudley Cannons. A bright orange banner of the team hanged above one of the tables – there were three desks in the room, all facing walls, with comfortable looking chairs. Tall bookshelves leaned against the walls, heavy under dozens of books. A fireplace stood against the right wall, happy fire crackling inside, logs placed right next to it. In front of it two sofas and an armchair – all of deep brown colour – were placed. Between them was a coffee table with the newest issue of Witch Weekly thrown on it carelessly. The floor was covered by soft dark turquoise carpet.

Harry felt calm in the room. Too calm for someone who’d just touched a random levitating purple wind and almost burned his arm off in the process. Nevertheless, he felt at peace in the warm room.

“Well this is new,” Selwyn said from behind him.

Harry turned abruptly, his hand tightening on the wand. Finally, he remembered Hermione and Ron were in the room with him. He groaned mentally. They must have seen him touch that stupid ball like an idiot. He wanted to melt into the floor.

“What was that?” Hermione asked, a wondrous look on her face. She was staring at her left hand with a strange intensity, yet softness.

“You saw it too? I’m sorry, I didn’t want to touch it, it just-” Ron cut himself off in the middle, seeing her expression. “You… touched it too?”

Hermione nodded distractedly. Harry looked between them, suddenly feeling much less embarrassed. “I did too.”

“That would be the point. For you to touch it,” Selwyn informed them in a mild voice.

“What was it?” Ron questioned curiously.

“Magic.”

Harry scowled at the portrait. “Really? How shocking. Truly surprising. Who would have thought?” Jokes like that were overdone. Magic was an answer to everything, yes he’d figured. No need to rub it in.

“No, that was quite literally what it was. Raw magic.” Selwyn shook his head. He frowned gently. “No, not exactly raw. It was part of the magic of the castle. It connected to your core and modelled the room to your preference.”

“So you’re saying one of us wanted green walls?” Ron asked, always quick to draw the most obvious conclusion. To Harry’s surprise, Selwyn shook his head seriously, without any mocking remarks.

“I’m saying you got the aura you desired.” 

Harry looked around the room again. It had very earthly tone about it, all those greens and browns. He left Hermione to try and understand how the room worked and walked to the window. He looked out, surprised to see the school grounds from a top of what appeared to be a rather tall tower. The Gryffindor Tower! But they were on the first floor!

“Where are we, exactly?” he asked, interrupting Hermione mid-sentence. Both she and Ron gave him strange looks, scrunching their foreheads. Ron looked out of the nearest window and frowned.

“Just one of the many hidden rooms.” Selwyn lifted one shoulder in a shrug.

“Why are you guarding it then?” Hermione asked. “Why make us swear we won’t tell anyone about what’s in here?”

Ghost of a smile appeared on Selwyn’s face. “I thought it would change into something else.”

“Like what?”

“That would be telling.” He frowned, hesitating. He cocked his head to a side and smirked at Harry. “Then again, who’s to say you won’t find it anyway.”

“Find what?” Ron demanded. 

“The secret. Now if you’ll excuse me,” Selwyn grinned at him and slipped out of the frame, leaving an empty canvas behind.

Ron threw his hands op. “FINE! DON’T TELL US THEN!” he shouted. Harry was rather sure the man couldn’t hear him.

***

Before Hermione had left they had searched the room cautiously, going through every corner of it, until they finally deemed it safe. One of the things they noticed was how, aside of Selwyn’s, the room was devoid of portraits. That meant no one could listen in on them. Harry liked that. He was sick and tired of having to watch what he said all the time. They all were.

He stared at the ceiling blankly, sprawled on one of the sofas, his feet kicked up on the coffee table. Opposite of him Ron was sat in the armchair, fiddling with his wand aimlessly. Harry was bored. Not for a lack of things to do, he had more homework than he could finish till the end of the week, no, he just didn’t feel like doing anything. So he sat. And was bored.

“I better get the damn silencing charm to work or Flitwick is going to have my head tomorrow,” Ron sighed while he stretched. A big yawn escaped him immediately afterwards.

Harry grinned weakly. “And what are you going to practice on?”

“You?” Ron suggested and pointed his wand at him with a smirk.

“Don’t you dare.” Harry pulled out his own and pointed it back at his friend.

Ron laughed and tossed his wand on the table. “You still have the dragon egg?”

“Nah. Dumbledore took it away last year.”

“Damn it.”

Harry shook his head. Honestly, only Ron would think of that golden bother. Although, the screeching _ would _ be a great motivation. He got up. “I’m going to get the books from Sirius. I left them in the dorm.”

“Can you ask Selwyn if he can… come here?” The here meant the other side of his portrait. Harry wasn’t sure how it worked and no other portrait in the castle had two sides like that – at least he had never noticed one.

He snickered. “Want to use him as a practice target? I don’t think he’ll be thrilled.” He opened the portrait door and looked at the painting. “He’s not here,” he said over his shoulder. Ron groaned before he shut the room and peeked from behind the tapestry. The corridor was empty. Good.

He hurried up the many stairs to the Gryffindor common room. He was just glad most of the students were still in lessons. As far as he knew, only those in fifth year who weren’t taking Ancient Runes had a free period. Two of them, actually. He briefly wondered how Hermione was doing in that class. He’d probably murder someone if he had to be in a lesson without at least one of his friends. Well, at least Hermione was the least temperamental one of the three of them.

“Mimbulus Mimbletonia,” he told the Fat Lady and waited until she opened for him. He paid no mind to two of his year mates playing chess by the fireplace and rushed up the stairs.

Rummaging through his trunk, he found the two leather-bound books. He wrapped them into his cloak and stuffed inside his bag. He had sworn to always carry the cloak with him – for emergencies – and it was time to start that habit. He shut the lid of his trunk and almost ran back down. He felt as if all the red was closing in on him. That was probably just his momentary dislike for his housemates talking though.

He walked barely two hallways before a short, strict call stopped him in his tracks. “Mr Potter!” 

McGonagall. Angry McGonagall form the sound of it. He turned slowly, wondering what he’d done, and saw her approaching him with pursed lips. A Slytherin student followed close behind her. Warrington. One of the Slytherin chasers and a seventh year. What was he doing there? Wasn’t he supposed to be in a lesson? Both of them, in fact?

McGonagall came to stop in front of Harry and looked at her wand connected to a thread of yellowish light coming from somewhere next to Harry. He looked there, seeing it disappear into his bag. His blood ran cold. What was she doing?

“May I see the contents of your bag, Mr Potter?” Professor McGonagall asked, although it was not truly a question at all.

“Why?” Harry asked. His own voice sounded strange to him; his heartbeat echoing in his ears. Had someone found out about the books? He’d already pulled the bag down, not truly expecting an answer, nor any choice in the matter.

And he didn’t get it either. McGonagall merely took his bag and looked through his things. She pulled something out – not one of the books to Harry’s relief. She held the wand the twins gave him at lunch and stared at it with appalled expression. That wasn’t so bad, he could explain that. It wasn’t even for any prank for once. She stared at it for a long second before looking straight at Harry.

“What- Mr Potter that will be fifty points off Gryffindor. Never have I ever...” she seemed to be at a loss of words. She shook her head and handed the twins’ experimental wand to Warrington.

Harry blinked. What? Why did she- WHAT?! “Professor that’s-”

“I don’t want to hear any excuses, Mr Potter! Stealing fellow students’ wand I must say-”

Harry felt like he’d been slapped. Stealing a wand? What? “But that is not-”

“-I’ve thought better of you.”

“I HAVEN’T STOLEN-”

“Quiet!” Harry snapped his mouth shut. She wasn’t going to hear him out. Of course, she wasn’t. He felt the lump in his throat growing. “I’ll see you tonight. And should this  _ ever _ happen again, I’ll have to notify the headmaster.” Harry stared at her in silence. His hands shook so he clenched them into fists. He looked over at Warrington, standing behind her with an unreadable expression. He looked at the wand in his hand. He was going to  _ murder  _ the twins. He took a long breath.

“I haven’t-” he tried to explain one more time, his voice coming out even and calm despite the thunder cloud forming in his head, only to be ruthlessly cut off again.

“I’ll hear no more of it, Mr Potter. Tonight-”

Harry didn’t let her finish. He grabbed his bag from her hand, span around and stormed down the corridor. 

“MR POTTER! STOP THERE!”

Harry paid her no mind, quickening his pace as he passed through the door, throwing the bag over his shoulder. The shout of “TWENTY POINTS FROM GRYFFINDOR!” followed him as he jogged his way to the lower levels of the castle, echoing in his ears. He felt his heartbeat against his chest, his eyes burned and his throat was closed down, barely letting any air into his lungs.

“Follow us, our lovely song, know that we can do no wrong,” he recited in front of the tapestry in a voice that sounded nothing like his own. He shut his eyes and took several deep calming breaths. There was no need to be upset. This wasn’t anything new after all.

“Are you alright?” Selwyn asked, a hint of worry in his voice.

Harry looked at him blankly and contemplated the question for a second. He shook his head. “Peerage.”

Selwyn’s portrait swung open without further inquires; much unlike the Fat Lady would. Harry stumbled into the room, holding the wall for support. He was shaking all over his body. He collapsed against the wall the moment the man shut the door. He let his bag fall on the ground next to him as he let out a long shaky breath.

“Harry?” he heard Ron’s voice. “What’s wrong? What happened?”

Harry stared at his knees, his hands shaking violently in his lap. What was he feeling, though? He was drawing short clunky breaths. He felt as if something was tearing in his chest. He snarled and grabbed a handful of his hair, pulling at it strongly. What was wrong with him? Why was he being like this?

“Harry, talk to me. What happened?”

Harry was vaguely aware of Ron kneeling somewhere to his right side, his hand resting on Harry’s shoulder.

“I- I’m fucking going to kill your fucking brothers,” he hissed through clenched teeth. “I swear I’ll fucking kill them both.”

“Alright?” Ron said carefully. “Why?”

Harry let out a sharp laugh, one that sounded insane and desperate at the same time, at least to Harry’s ears. “Healing balm my arse. The bastards stole the wand from Warrington.”

“They WHAT? Shit. Someone found out, didn’t they?” Ron didn’t even stop to question the fact they had done something like that. 

Harry nodded, his breathing calming down a little. “McGonagall,” he breathed out. “Searched my bag. With the fucking books inside.” He hit his head on the wall behind him hard. He suspected he’d be suspended the moment anyone got wind of what he was reading.

“Did she find them?”

Harry shook his head. “Only found the wand. Took fifty points, gave me a detention and threatened me with Dumbledore.”

Ron stayed silent for several long moments. “She didn’t listen, did she?”

“She never let me get a word in.”

“Bloody hell.”

Harry nodded again. He took another calming breath. “Then I fucking ran away,” he admitted with distaste colouring his voice. “And she took another twenty.” He tilted his head backwards, hitting it lightly on the wall again. “I fucking ran.”

Ron clenched his shoulder tighter, but said nothing. Harry was thankful for that. Had Hermione been there she’d try to, he knew, but thankfully she weren’t. He tried to not feel too guilty over the thought. He hated when people saw him weak and that was exactly what he felt like right then. Weak, upset and… Disappointed?

“When’s the detention?” Ron asked. Harry could feel the frown on his face without looking.

“Tonight.”

Ron squeezed his shoulder one more time and got up. He stepped over Harry’s outstretched legs.

“Where are you going?” Harry questioned and pulled himself together. He got to his feet as well, still feeling as if something was clawing at his chest from the inside.

“To see McGonagall, of course.”

“No,” Harry said hastily and grabbed Ron’s arm. “Don’t.”

“Why not? She can’t give you detention over something the twins have done.” Ron frowned at him.

Harry looked aside. “It doesn’t matter.”

“Mate-”

“No,” Harry cut him off and let go of his hand. He took several steps backwards, opting to look out of the window rather than face his friend. “She won’t believe you anyway.”

“I’m a prefect now, mate,” Ron reminded him. “If she doesn’t believe me, what use is that position?”

Harry swallowed hard. It was hard to put his feelings into words. He hated what McGonagall had done and he hated the idea of being in detention for it. At the same time though, he hated the idea of Ron going to see her about it more. He didn’t need it. He didn’t need more attention. And the rumours would have started by then anyway. Even if his name was cleared, it wouldn’t matter. Everyone would have made their minds already. Just like with him being insane.

“Just leave it.” He stared at the green leaves swaying in the breeze outside. The old flags from the previous year on the quidditch pitch hung without a movement, the wind not strong enough to disturb them. Shortly the leaves would start turning orange. Then the quidditch cup would begin. “You’ll only make it worse.”

“How?” Harry sighed, but Ron didn’t let him say anything. “How could I possibly make it worse?” 

“Get yourself in detention too? Lose your badge?” Harry suggested with a scowl on his face. He turned to face his friend. “Look, the twins are not going to admit to stealing Warrington’s wand.”

Ron stayed silent for several long seconds. Harry prayed he wouldn’t decide to go anyway. “Alright. I’ll get the twins to go tell her the truth then.” Ron set his jaw.

“How do you plan to do that?” Harry snorted. He couldn’t see anyone being able to force the twins into anything. Except their mother of course.

Ron merely grinned at him. “Oh don’t worry about that. They’ll rather get detention then have mom know about it.” Harry eyed him with a shrewd look. He’d thought Ron felt… overshadowed by his brothers. His eyes flickered to the prefect badge on his chest. If that thing was giving him more confidence in himself Harry wasn’t about to complain.

Ron seemed to notice where he was looking, because he shrugged. “I don’t actually know why I got it. How I deserved it.”

A change of topics, but one Harry wouldn’t call out. He shrugged as well. It was a mystery. Although, thinking of it, he wasn’t sure if he’d give the badge to anyone in their year at all if it had been his choice. Ron did seem like the most sensible choice – except for Neville. But Neville would never have as much respect. Not when people had spent four years pushing him around.

In the end, Harry just sighed. He didn’t think he’d be able to stop Ron from basically blackmailing his brothers. “You won’t see them until curfew, probably,” he pointed out to Ron and turned his attention back to the scene outside. “So I still have to go to the detention.”

Ron nodded. “Yeah. But I sure as hell can get  _ them _ into a lot longer detention after.” He frowned. “I might have an idea.”

“Oh? Out with it.” Harry glanced over his shoulder.

“I drop a hint to Jones and Padma at dinner. They are on duty tonight I think. They drag them off to McGonagall and  _ then _ you tell her what really happened.”

“And if they protest?” Harry asked, pretty sure the twins would not admit to stealing someone’s wand. He wouldn’t if he’d done it. 

Ron shrugged. “Do you think she’s going to believe their word over yours? They are known to be pranksters and liars.”

Harry considered it for a second then shook his head. “I just don’t see the point.” He didn’t mention she might still not listen at all.

Ron sighed. “Do you want McGonagall to think you’ve done it?” Harry grimaced at the thought. “Exactly.”

It was Harry’s turn to sigh. “I suppose. At least she won’t be so quick to blame me next time.”

Ron stepped closer and patted his shoulder. “Come on then,” he said. “You wanted to read through those books.”

Harry nodded and grabbed the bag from where he’d left it on the ground. He turned to Ron and opened his mouth to say something. His mind went completely blank. He huffed in irritation and shook his head.

He caught a small smile on Selwyn’s face before the man disappeared from the frame. His stomach churned at the thought of him having heard and seen everything. He’d have to question Hermione on who the man was. Or finally read the damned Hogwarts: A history. He shook his head at the thought. What had the world come to if he considered that a valid option?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Send me some nice comments so I know what you think of the twins. Be aware that I do, in fact, have an arc for them, however.


	7. Not so bad detention

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> We never got to see what detentions with McGonagall look like, so I´ve made my own. However, I do believe she reserves this particular type of detention for people who get at least an E in her class, otherwise it would be completely pointless.

Harry stood in front of McGonagall’s office with his heart in his throat. He hadn’t gone there right after dinner like he was supposed to and arrived late. It was just going to produce more problems for him. He tried not to dwell on it and focus on not lashing out at his head of the house before Jones and Padma could get there with the twins. He was still rather stumped they had agreed to the plan at all. They were putting their positions on the line for him. Why would anyone do that was beyond him.

He did not feel completely comfortable with the plan himself. He just didn’t see what use it was to anyone now that McGonagall had made up her mind. Judging by the scowls Harry had got from the Slytherin table, Warrington wasted no time informing his housemates of what had happened. Although, his life would probably prove much easier if the teachers didn’t think he was a thief. Good thing Snape was not there anymore or Harry might have had a reason to fear for his life. 

He sighed heavily and opened his eyes, staring straight at the wooden door in front of him. The girls couldn’t hunt the twins down soon enough. He set his jaw and brought his hand up to knock. He could do this.

McGonagall’s voice inviting him in was as hard as ever. Harry thought he saw disappointment lurking in her eyes as she glanced at him and clenched his jaw tighter. He won’t let it get to him. It didn’t matter. He didn’t care. He was lying to himself – and badly – but he was woefully unprepared to face it.

“Mr Potter. You will join Mr Nott in transfiguring the accidents to their previous form,” she told him in a strangely detached voice, not commenting on his late arrival. Harry chose not to ponder on it, his attention diverted by the boy sitting in the corner of the room. He stabbed his wand at a piece of cutlery.

Harry recognized him, somewhat. The boy was his year-mate, a Slytherin. They shared several classes, he even took Care of Magical Creatures with them. Theodore Nott was his name. This was the first time in his years at Hogwarts that Harry truly noticed him, however. He had an unmistakably irritable scowl plastered on his face and he didn’t look like was enjoying himself. Harry didn’t blame him at all; undoing the first-years’ accidents in Transfiguration class tended to be tricky and it was no surprise McGonagall would rather pass the duty to some unfortunate student than do it herself.

Harry sat down on the chair opposite of Nott. He reached into the box of failed spells without a word and picked up whatever was at the top. The Slytherin barely spared him a glance before going back to trying to undo the damage done on the fork.

Harry examined his own object. It was a quill. Plain, white quill with a bit of dried ink on the tip. He squinted at it, wondering if it wasn’t just a normal quill. Perhaps… He muttered the incantation of quill-to-parchment spell and was pleased to see it turn into a yellowish scroll. Then he frowned, wondering whether it was truly the original form, but then decided he didn’t care and dropped it into the box for fixed stuff. If McGonagall wanted him to do her job then she was ready to deal with the possibility of him doing it wrong. Besides there had been nothing obviously wrong with it, so how was he supposed to know what went wrong?

He reached for another messed up transfiguration when he noticed Nott watching him curiously. The boy averted his gaze the moment he realized Harry had noticed him. Harry stared at him for a second longer before shrugging and looking at the piece of feathered goblet. He shut his eyes and tried not to be too annoyed. It didn’t work.

He was in the middle of undoing whatever spell it was that turned a pin into a rather heavy ball of iron when a thought struck him out of nowhere. He shot a quick look at the boy in front of him. Nott was focusing on fixing the abomination that used to be a mouse, his forehead wrinkled. Harry absently noted he was using the wrong incantation, but paid it no mind. More pressing matter had caught his attention.

The Slytherin’s name was Theodore Nott.  _ Nott _ . He was the son of the man who had attacked the Grimmauld place. His father was currently locked up in Hogwarts dungeon; at least Harry assumed that to be the case. He couldn’t help but wonder if the boy knew what had happened to him. Did he know he’d been captured by the Order or had his father just left one day and never returned? Harry felt an irrational stab of guilt and forced it down.

“What?” Nott scowled at him unhappily. Harry almost jumped out of his skin. Had he been looking for too long?

“Quiet.” McGonagall’s voice cut through the room. Harry threw an irate glare over his shoulder.

“You’re using the wrong incantation,” he hissed in return, lowering his voice so she wouldn’t hear. Nott gave him a suspicious look. Harry rolled his eyes and muttered the spell himself. The white mouse squeaked in shock and went scurrying off the table. Nott grasped it before it got too far and dropped it into the cage on the window behind him. He took another damaged object from the box with an unreadable expression.

“You’re welcome,” Harry muttered and returned to his own problem.

It was sort of fun, working out what exactly went wrong with the spell used on the different objects and how the disaster that they became could ever occur, Harry was willing to admit that. It still didn’t mean he didn’t have like… several other things he’d rather be doing. Although, it _ was _ a step up from scrubbing cauldrons every evening, or going into the Forbidden Forest with Hagrid to hunt dead unicorns, so he wouldn’t complain. 

He’d just figured out a way to get rid of the tail on one of the cups when Nott decided to open his mouth.

“Say, Potter, what possessed you to steal Warrington’s wand?” he asked quietly, sending a cautious look over Harry’s shoulder.

“I didn’t do it,” Harry responded immediately, knowing his attempt to defend himself was likely to be futile. Why did not even feel the need to talk? 

“He said it was in your bag.” His tone clearly suggested Nott didn’t believe him.

“Just because they fund it in my bag doesn’t mean  _ I  _ stole it,” Harry hissed back angrily. If this conversation wasn’t a waste of time, he didn’t know what was.

“It is the logical conclusion.” Harry merely shrugged and decided not to react. The Slytherin was probably just trying to aggravate him. For what purpose, he couldn’t fathom.

“Why Warrington’s though?” Nott continued. “I mean, if it were Malfoy, sure, whatever. He hates you just as much as you hate him. But a seventh-year who you see three times a year on a quidditch pitch? Why?”

“I did not take his wand.”

The other boy gave him a curious look. “McGonagall seems to think differently.”

Harry couldn’t quite restrain the scowl on his face. Nott had a point. He risked a glance over his shoulder to see the professor grading papers determinedly. Someone had under-researched their homework if her expression was any indication.

“What do you care?” he snarled at the other boy quietly and resisted the urge to kick him under the table. But Nott merely grinned in response and went back to his work. Harry pushed the sudden urge to hex him out of his mind and settled for glaring.

Unsurprisingly, it did absolutely nothing to help. In the end, he turned away, casting a look at the clock on the wall. His eyes almost budged out when he realized it was eight already. He looked at the  _ ‘Fixed’ _ box in confusion and then up at Nott.

“She likes to hold people almost until curfew, didn’t you know that?”

Harry shook his head and cast one more look at the professor. “Most of my detentions were with Filch or Snape.” He froze in place for a second, thinking that bringing up the dead head of Slytherin house might not have been his best idea, but Nott merely grimaced.

“Damned leech tanks,” he muttered under his breath, more for himself than as a part of conversation, but Harry couldn’t stop himself from snorting.

“Leech tanks were the lesser evil. Have you ever had to pickle rats’ brains?”

“No. But I did spend quite some time skinning boomslangs,” Nott shot back at him with a smirk.

Harry grinned at him before he remembered who he was talking to. The grin faded from his face, leaving him with a bitter taste in his mouth and guilty feeling in his chest. The boy was a Death Eater. And if not yet, he was bound to be one in a few years. What was he thinking?

Nott just rolled his eyes. “Come off it Potter. We don’t bite.” Harry wasn’t so sure about that. Malfoy certainly did, figuratively speaking. He stared at the wooden needle he’d picked from the box. He heard Nott sigh softly. “You didn’t seem particularly impressed with Beltaine,” the boy tried to change the topic.

Harry continued to wave his wand around the needle. He could’ve changed it back to a match easily, probably without even muttering the incantation, but he kept messing around with it, ignoring Nott pointedly. Why had he started a conversation with a Slytherin?

Well, he hadn’t. It was Nott who started talking first. Yeah, that was it. Nott drew him into a discussion, probably in hopes of finding out something about the Order or something. That had to be it. He nodded to himself and turned the needle back to a match, not even looking in the Slytherin’s direction. He would not give him what he wanted.

Unfortunately, it didn’t look like the other boy was going to respect his decision. “Hey Potter,” he started again. Harry resisted the urge to roll his eyes. “Who took that wand?”

It startled Harry into looking up at him. “I did, remember?” he snarled. What was Nott’s problem? He clenched his jaw.

“Warrington said he doesn’t think so.” Nott frowned. “And you did say you haven’t done it.”

Harry blinked. “Warrington… What?” The new piece of information sent his thoughts sprinting in hundreds of different directions. Why would Warrington say that? 

Nott shrugged. “No idea. Who took it?”

Harry ignored the mess that was his head at the moment and squinted at the Slytherin suspiciously. “Why do you want to know?” He knew it was a stupid question the moment he asked it. And from the unimpressed gaze and the lack of answer, Nott thought so too.

“Come on, Potter, this is ridiculous. Stealing someone’s wand goes a bit beyond the usual pranks and jeers, don’t you think?”

Harry scowled, but privately agreed. The twins had taken it too far, no matter what the purpose had been. Blaming it on him certainly did nothing to improve his current mood with them. He still hesitated, but Nott would find out soon enough thanks to their plan. He briefly wondered if he shouldn’t try to get them dismissed early or find a way to stop the plan, then shrugged internally. The two had it coming, as far as he was concerned, and he’d rather not get caught in the crossfire.

“The Weasley twins,” he admitted softly. He noticed the look of surprise followed by satisfaction that crossed Nott’s face.

“We should have known,” the boy muttered. He then immediately shot a disgusted look at the jar of sludge he’d picked up.

“Why are you in detention?” Harry asked suddenly, being certain he already knew this answer. He may have never talked with the other boy, but he was pretty sure Nott was not someone who got into detention often. He would’ve been more aware of his existence if he did.

“Can’t you guess?” The grin on Nott’s face had a playful edge to it.

Harry shook his head in mock disgust. “Do you people often get in detentions to gain information?” he growled, but was far more amused than anything else.

Nott stiffed his snicker and shook his head. “No. Usually it’s enough to ask. Of course, that has never worked with Gryffindors before.”

“Shame,” Harry smirked at him.

Nott seemed to want to say something more, but right then there was a sharp knock on the door. Nott startled. Harry made an effort to clear any emotion that was not irritation off his face. It certainly wouldn’t do to look like he was having fun.

“Come in,” McGonagall called. The confusion showed on her face clearly. She can’t have been expecting a visit this late.

The door opened, allowing Padma and Jones to walk in. The girls had decisively furious expressions – and even Harry wasn’t sure they weren’t real. Padma held her wand, knuckles pale. The Weasley twins entered after them with badly concealed annoyance on their faces.

“Miss Jones, Miss Patil, what can I do for you?” McGonagall seemed torn between being intrigued and suspicious. She might have addressed the girls, but her eyes were fixed on the twins and her expression dark.

“You see, Professor,” Padma stared, sending a long dirty look at the twins, “we found these two near the dungeons. They were discussing whether they should’ve “broken it while they could’ve” or not.”

“As it turns out,” Jones took up the explanation when Padma’ voice cracked in badly concealed fury, “the ‘it’ was actually Warrington’s wand. They seemed have been extremely distraught over him having it back.” That, at least, would explain why Padma was so furious. Being a pure-blood, she would take the idea of breaking someone’s wand much worse. From the corner of his eye, he saw Nott stiffen at the words.

He turned his attention back at McGonagall whose lips had pursed tighter with seemingly every word the girls said. She was now glowering at the twins in a way that put Snape’s most furious looks to shame.

“I was wondering, Professor,” Jones spoke before McGonagall could start yelling at the twins, “how would they have done that, if they hadn’t had it at some point?”

McGonagall’s sight flickered to Harry, then at the twins again. Harry could almost see the wheels turning, his head of the house putting the pieces together. He applauded the girls mentally.

The twins themselves looked upset, maybe even angry, but Harry felt precisely no sympathy for them. Especially if what Padma had said was true and they’d planned to break the wand – and they would’ve already spoken up if it wasn’t. No one should be able to break one’s wand, aside, perhaps, of the ministry. Even there Harry had his doubts.

McGonagall drew a long breath and Harry’s attention snapped back to her immediately. She had failed to deal with the situation before, at least in Harry’s eyes, so he couldn’t wait to see how she would handle it the second time.

“Mr Potter, how did you come to the possession of Mr Warrington’s wand?” she asked the question that should’ve been asked hours ago. All eyes turned on Harry.

He ran a hand through his hair. “Well, we were eating lunch when the twins stopped by.” Both boys were glaring at him. He briefly wondered what was wrong with them, none of this sounded like the twins he knew. “They asked us to hold on to it for a while. They said it was one of their products and they wanted to see how it reacts to potion fumes. We would have Potions before they would, so I took it.” He shrugged.

McGonagall nodded once and glared straight at the twins. “What do you have to say for yourselves?” She sounded unusually restrained, but she was slowly drilling holes into them with how intense her stare was.

The twins exchanged looks. “We never took the wand from Warrington,” George said. Harry thought the lie fell flat mostly because he kept looking anywhere but at McGonagall.

“Yet you knew it was stolen and regretted not breaking it while you could’ve,” McGonagall noted. She raised her hand just as George was about to speak. She turned to the two fifth-year boys sitting in the room. “Mr Potter, I do apologize for the unjust judgment on my part. I fear I have failed to listen to your explanation. Any mentioning of the offence will be cleared from your records. You may leave now.”

Harry gave her a long look and nodded. He stood up and started for the door when McGonagall spoke again: “You may leave as well Mr Nott. I believe I will not hear of it happening again.”

“No professor,” Nott muttered and left the room in hurry.

“Mr Potter.” Harry turned to the woman one more time, letting Nott pass by him. “I apologize for the way you had to spend the evening.”

Harry nodded one more time and shut the door behind him with a sigh. At least she’d get rid of the mark on his record. He did not need that there. Then again, suspicious few of his exploits were marked down.

To his surprise, when he turned, he found Nott leaning against the wall, watching him. Harry frowned at him and glanced around cautiously. It didn’t  _ look _ like there was anyone else there, but there _ had to _ be a reason Nott still was. He passed around the boy without a word. Nott joined him in his walk, easily matching their paces.

Harry walked faster, only for Nott to do so as well. Scowling to himself Harry tried to ignore the other boy. He lasted precisely half a corridor before he spun around and glared at him, wand in his hand. “What do you  _ want _ , Nott?” he snarled.

Nott merely raised his hands slightly, palms up. “I’m not going to hex you, you know?” he said calmly. “I’m not Malfoy. And I would have done so already if I planned it.”

“That’s good to know,” Harry sneered at him, utterly unconvinced. He wasn’t even sure why he was being like that, Nott certainly hadn’t seemed that bad back in the office. “But why are you following me?”

Nott shrugged. “Maybe I just wanted to talk.”

Harry stared at him. Talk. With him. With Gryffindor. “Exactly how dumb do you think I am?”

The Slytherin rolled his eyes. “Should I answer that?”

“It is a question,” Harry said before he could control himself. Seeing Nott’s raised eyebrow he shook his head, heat rising to his cheeks. With one more suspicious look, he put his wand away. “Alright then, what do you want to talk about?” He crossed his arms with a challenging look.

This time he was sure he saw the surprise in the other boy’s face, before he masked it. Nott looked at him for a moment before his shoulders slumped and he shrugged. “No idea, I didn’t think I’d get this far.”

That startled a laugh out of Harry. He was still extremely confused and half-convinced one of them was mad. “What the heck, Nott? Why… What’s even going on?”

He watched the other sigh and take a step back. “Let’s just say Black’s ideas are… most enlightening.”

Harry quirked his eyebrows. He had not yet had a lesson with Black and Sirius was taking his time sending him an answer, so he knew nothing about the man aside of the very little of his past that everyone knew. He did, however, remember the pleased aura Slytherins had given off when his position had been announced and it still made no sense to him.

“What did Black say, then?” he questioned.

Nott looked around nervously as if expecting someone to jump from behind the suit of armour. “This might not be the best place,” he muttered, his eyes fixed on one of the paintings. Harry followed his gaze and nodded. Not even six hours ago he’d had the same problem. Then he remembered the clock in McGonagall’s office.

“It’s curfew soon,” he pointed out. Nott jerked his head once in agreement.

“I don’t suppose I’ll get you to meet with me?” he asked with a resigned grimace.

Harry watched him silently. He would lie if he said he wasn’t intrigued. Hermione would think it was a stupid idea. Ron would probably be outraged. “When? And where?”

Again, surprise flashed across Nott’s face. “Saturday?” he suggested. “In the Dark Tower?”

Harry blinked. He had no objection to the date but… “Why Dark Tower?”

“No one ever goes there. Do you want Finnigan or someone to find out about it? There are no portraits either.”

Harry shook his head. “So… let’s say… nine?” Ron wouldn’t get up that early during a weekend. Not even by accident. Hermione would already be at the library, before the rest of the school could ruin the atmosphere for her, so there was no problem there.

Nott shrugged. “Works for me. At least then Malfoy will still be asleep.” Harry stopped his grin from reaching his face.

“Alright... see you then, I suppose,” he told Nott and gave him one last suspicious look. Then he walked away, his shoulders tense, ready to throw up a shield if Nott decided he was going to hex him. He didn’t and Harry was left feeling like an idiot.

***

Harry returned to the common room with the chime of a bell announcing curfew for fourth and fifth years. He ignored the way all conversation hushed when he stepped through the door and made his way up to the dorm. The talk behind him picked up again, making him clench his teeth.

His eyes darted around his room as he pushed the door open, looking for any prank stuck to his bed or trunk. He found none and eased himself into the one armchair they had with a groan. He stared blankly out of the window, the constant drizzle outside reflecting his mood perfectly.

His thoughts raced around his mind, not quite willing to calm themselves on their own. Shutting his eyes, he thought this had been a very bad day. He played with the thoughts about twins for a little while, until he decided he truly couldn’t be bothered to deal with whatever was going on and discarded them. He had no intention of handling their problems, not after what they’d done to him. Given the fact Ron had been close to murdering them himself, he wouldn’t be keen on helping them either. It wasn’t their problem anyway.

The thought of twins brought Harry back to Nott. If he were completely honest with himself, Harry had no idea what to think. Nott was a Slytherin. His father was a Death Eater. Both his house and his family would love to see Harry dead. Yet, here the boy was, asking to  _ talk with him _ . Harry was starting to wonder whether agreeing to meet up was such a good idea after all.

He knew what Ron would tell him, he didn’t need to think about that. Ron hated everything related to Slytherin. Hermione would probably take Ron’s side on the basis of common sense. And Harry knew neither of his friends would be wrong. The knowledge still didn’t change he wanted to hear what Nott had to say – assuming it was not some sort of prank or a trap, because then he’d probably just curse him and be done with it.

He took a deep breath and tried to pay no mind the thoughts flying through his mind, instead focusing on a single object – just like the Occlumency book suggested. Soon he found he had a bit too many thoughts to know what to do with them. Even when he managed to ignore all his school-related problems, new concerns just seemed to appear instead. The attack on Grimmauld place, Sirius, the captured Death Eaters, Pettigrew, Frank and Alice,… the list went on. Every time Harry succeeded with one thought, another made its way into his head.

It went on for a while when Harry shuddered suddenly and a memory of bright green spell and cold laughter sprung up in his mind. He jumped from his seat with a strangled cry. His hands shook and he could feel his heart beating against his chest. Again. He took a calming breath and glanced at the door. He hoped no one had heard him. No one came to check the room, so he supposed they didn’t. Or maybe they just didn’t care.

He ran his hand through his hair and swallowed the lump in his throat. He glared at the walls around him; feeling as if he was being a prisoner in the room. In some ways he was.

Movement outside caught his eye. He didn’t manage to stop himself from drawing his wand. He sighed in annoyance when he realized the movement was just Hedwig and stuffed his wand back into his pocket. Then he noticed she carried a letter and any irritation evaporated. He opened the window hastily and let her in. Sparing her a quick pet, he untied the letter and plopped down on his bed, ignoring her upset hoots. He’d give her snacks, but  _ after _ he’d read through the letter.

_ Harry, _

_ I’m still safe at the headquarters, you don’t need to worry about me. All of us are doing alright and there were no further problems after the attack. _

_ I’m sorry to hear about the way your classmates have been treating you, but I cannot say I find it particularly surprising. Do try to keep your temper in check, however. I don’t believe it will be of any use to antagonize them any further. _

_ As for your inquiry, I have told you I know the new Defense professor hadn’t I? I was just as surprised when Reg approached me during the summer – right after the Longbottoms were healed, in fact. Give him my regards when you see him. I am currently unable to contact him. Dumbledore fears it would put Reg in a dangerous position should any conversation between us be discovered.  _

_ I have, however, been in contact with F. They think they should be able to give me trial in November and get me cleared by December. You know what that means. _

_ There has been no progress in the matter that you wish to ask about and I’m afraid that our mutual worry is still not so safely locked away. No one here seems to find it concerning since Moony has left on a mission. _

_ Otherwise there is not much to tell you, everything’s been suspiciously quiet. How are you holding up over there? It hasn’t gotten better, has it? At least you now have two prefects behind you. How do you find the new professors? Can Reg actually teach? I know Dumbledore made him a head of Slytherin, how are the snakes taking that? Was there no outrage over in the green house? Have you seen the Medwitch yet? Please do see her soon. _

_ Love, _

_ Padfoot _

_ P.S.: Tell Hermione if she was interested in advanced arithmancy all she needed was ask. _

Harry stared at the letter in his hands with a small smile playing on his lips. Sirius hadn’t told him much, admittedly, but Harry didn’t care about the absence of any real information. What little it did tell him was seeped through with either amusement – Regulus and Hermione – or irritation – all the parts that indirectly mentioned Dumbledore.

Harry shook his head. First Ron, then the Longbottoms and Lupin, now Sirius. Being unhappy with the headmaster was becoming a theme in The Order. He wasn’t sure if that was such a good thing. Then again, the man seemed to consider imprisoning Death Eaters in Hogwarts a good idea. Who was to say he was sane enough to lead. Harry winced at the thought and made sure to bury it very deep in his brain. The last thing he needed was for someone to see  _ that _ line of thought. Not that he knew of anyone who knew Legilimency – he assumed Dumbledore could, but had no proof.

The door opened, startling Harry out of his mind. He dropped the letter into his lap and glared at Seamus. The other boy spared him one resentful look and moved to the bathroom. Harry used the moment he was alone again to hide the letter into his Transfiguration book; no one would look there.

Just in time too, because shortly after the door opened again and Neville entered with Dean. Both boys nodded at Harry, shooting nervous looks at the bathroom door. Harry barely stopped himself from rolling his eyes and flopped himself onto his pillow. The top of his head skimmed the wall behind him and he winced.

He stared on the ceiling while his roommates were preparing for bed, waiting for Ron to turn up as well. But he didn’t. Seamus left the shower and Harry sat up, feeling uneasy. What was taking him so long?

He got up, his bad feeling slowly deepening into very serious concern. He walked down the stairs cautiously, hearing raised voices from the common room. He stopped at the bottom of the staircase and leaned against the wall with his shoulder, taking in the scene.

There were only a few people scattered throughout, although, considering the tension in the air, he was not surprised. Ron was facing another boy – McLaggen, Harry recognized. Ron’s face was burning red, his wand trained on the older student. McLaggen’s back was turned on Harry, but – if the shaking of his shoulders was any indication – he was equally angry.

The few onlookers, mostly sixth years who had nothing better to do and occasional seventh and fifth years, were listening to the argument with rapt attention. Ginny was among them, sitting in the corner, glaring holes in McLaggen. No prefects were present, however, not even Hermione.

“Put. That. Wand. Away,” Ron snarled through his teeth. His jaw was clenched, his knuckles white and his wand shaking wildly. The air around him seemed to be moving very differently than in the rest of the room; a clear sign of his ire.

“Or what?” McLaggen spat back. “You’re both traitors!”

Harry’s eyebrows shot up. He had no doubt McLaggen meant him and Ron, although he wasn’t quite clear on what he’d done this time.

“So much better than everyone else, are you? Warrington deserves to have it snapped! But nooo, you just had to go snitch to McGonagall didn’t you?!”

Harry’s eyes widened by a fraction. Had McLaggen truly just said that? Snitch? Deserves to have his wand snapped? Preposterous. No one deserved to have their bloody wand snapped, regardless of what they’d done. And Warrington certainly seemed to have infuriated a good portion of Gryffindor house, somehow.

Ron opened his mouth to speak, but Harry beat him to it. “I seem to remember serving a detention for that wand,” he said coolly. Most of the eyes snapped at him. Ron relaxed slightly, lowering his wand from the sixth-year’s chest to his stomach. Then McLaggen opened his mouth.

“What are  _ you  _ doing here?” he growled and trailed his wand at him. Harry glanced at it and, to his surprise, wasn’t particularly worried.

“Am I not allowed into the common room anymore?” he challenged. He moved his hand to his pocket, ready to rip out his wand should it become necessary. He’d faced Voldemort, he wouldn’t be intimidated by some jerkish brute whose voice was still cracking.

“You don’t belong here!” McLaggen shouted at him, his voice full of barely contained fury. The wand in his hand shook violently. He sported very ugly beet-red spots all over his face from the pent up emotion.

Harry quirked an eyebrow at him. As if he hadn’t heard that one before. “The sorting hat would disagree,” he said, knowing full well that might not be the case. The words from his second year –  _ you would have done well in Slytherin –  _ echoed in his head. How sure he’d been that the hat was wrong at the time. Now he was about to meet with a Slytherin student alone and willingly, because said student had said he  _ wanted to talk _ . He grimaced internally. His twelve-year-old self would be disgusted. But he was not twelve anymore.

He stared at McLaggen for a moment longer. The older boy shook with suppressed anger, but didn’t seem to be able to muster a coherent response. He shook his head and turned, walking back up the stairs with a sense of impending doom looming over his head. It was not wise to make enemies in ones own house. He couldn’t care less anymore.


	8. Dark Tower

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I´ve been sick this past week and this chapter has been going slow because of it, but here it is and on time after all!  
> I have posted a timetable for Harry´s year on my Tumblr if anyone cares for that sort of things. It looks crazy at first glance, but honestly isn´t so bad. The most classes one Harry has in one day is six I think and he has whole three (3) classes on Thursday.

Harry leaned heavily against the bathroom sink and stared into the mirror, prodding at the inflated scar on his forehead with a scowl. It looked so much more noticeable than usual. He hissed and pulled his hand away when he picked on it too hard, sending a sharp pain shooting into his skull.

He huffed and made his way through the empty Gryffindor tower, heading for breakfast. It was a bit after eight and everyone was still deep asleep. Harry hoped they’d stay that way for a while – at least as long as they usually did on Saturdays. He didn’t feel inclined to explain why he was going on a very shady meeting with a Slytherin boy he’d never spoken to before. If no one else, Ron would ask. And Harry didn’t exactly have an explanation ready. It just… sounded like the right thing to do. Weren’t that a strange thought?

The Great Hall was exactly as empty as he’d imagined. Barely any students sat at the Gryffindor table – not that Harry had expected anything else. Glancing at the Slytherins, he found a dark-brown haired boy slowly picking through his meal. Nott caught his look and sent him a small grin. Harry contemplated going over to the Slytherin table and finding out what was going on right then, but decided against it. The last thing he needed was causing a scene in the Great Hall.

He sat down at the very end of his house’s table, not in the mood to pretend he got along with his housemates just fine. He did not. The entire school knew, so what was the point in claiming otherwise? He’d barely poured himself a tea when a girl’s shadow fell over him.

“You’re still playing, yes?” she asked without as much as a greeting. Harry stared up at her. Quidditch. He’d not even thought of that. He seriously considered dropping the sport. Playing for Gryffindor no longer sounded overly appealing. Then he imagined the look on his classmates’ faces and nodded resolutely.

“Yeah. You are the captain then?”

Angelina jerked her head up and down. “The tryouts are in three weeks. Friday afternoon. We need a keeper and reserve beaters.” She was cordial with him at best – an improvement over the rest of the house, but still.

He decided not to question her decision to hold tryouts so late in the year. “Why the beaters?” he arched his eyebrows instead. She scowled deeply.

“The twins will be banned if they act out one more time.” It went unsaid that she believed they would. “McGonagall’s decision. Their mother threatened to pull them out of the school.” She’d be doing them a favour if she did that, but nobody asked for Harry’s opinion. He nodded absently and Angelina wasted no time to leave. He watched her join Katie, Alicia and Lee farther down the table. After a brief conversation, all three appeared torn between relieved and upset.

He shook his head. It would be a joy to play with teammates who didn’t trust him. Especially the twins. He didn’t know how he was going to play with the twins. Grabbing himself some bacon, he couldn’t help but sigh deeply when Ginny entered the Great Hall. She made a beeline for him.

“Hey Harry.” She sat down across from him. “How’s it going?”

“It’s been worse,” Harry muttered, being as vague as possible.

“Yeah,” Ginny agreed easily enough. “You’re up early today.” She frowned at him, clearly sensing something was wrong.

Harry’s mind went blank. He had no explanation ready, because he hadn’t thought there would be anyone who’d need it. Obviously he’d been wrong.

“I- I couldn’t sleep.” He stammered on the first word lightly. 

Ginny’s expression turned into that of compassion and she gave him a tight smile. “Right. Sorry.” She turned to her own breakfast. She stabbed her egg several times before looking up at him again. “You should see Madam Pomfrey if you have nightmares.”

“What is she going to do?” Harry blinked and held up his hands when Ginny glared at him. He wasn’t trying to pretend he was fine or that he should deal with it himself, not yet anyway. He just didn’t see what the medwitch could do about his nightly terrors. Aside of giving him Dreamless sleep potion, which she wouldn’t.

“Well, she can give you a potion for-”

Of course. “Yeah, nah, she won’t,” Harry cut her off. “She said they’re harmful if taken too often.”

“But you’d take just one.” Harry turned back to his plate and bit into his toast. One, yes. “Harry, what did you do?”

He sighed. He truly was transparent to his friends. “Last year. I may have drunk a bit too many of them.” The medwitch had not been impressed when she’d discovered how many of them he’d taken in a space of the few days he’d spent at Hospital wing.

Ginny frowned at him. “But you know it’s dangerous!”

He rolled his eyes. “I wanted sleep. I wasn’t getting any without it. She shouldn’t have kept them in an unlocked cupboard if she didn’t want people overusing them.”

“Most people know better than to take too many.”

“Yes, well, most people don’t have nightmares every damn night, now do they?” Harry scowled at her, raising his voice. He lowered it back down before he attracted anyone’s attention. “Leave it alone, Ginny. Nothing bad happened, but she’s not going to give me any more of them.”

“It’s been over two months ago. It’s safe to give you some again,” she pointed out.

Harry was getting increasingly more uncomfortable. “I’m fine, Ginny.”

She gave him a sceptical look. He wondered how much longer it would take her to notice his scar had taken on a rather violent red colour during the night. He decided he didn’t want to know, and he  _ had  _ seen Nott leave the room some time ago. He stood up. “I’m going to see if the ravens have driven Hermione out of the Library yet.” He walked away from the table, hoping she’d not decide to join him. She didn’t.

Anxiety settled in his chest as he approached the bottom of the Dark Tower. He took a sharp turn at one of the hallways and pushed the tall wooden door open. He entered a circular room with no windows and barely any light sources. It smelled of dirt, wet cloth and old petrol. It brought back the memories of when they’d thought Sirius was kept there in their third year. They had been wrong, but nevertheless, the place reminded him far too strongly of that time-travelling disaster.

He waited for his eyes to get accustomed to the lack of proper lighting and stepped in, his shoulders tense. Grimly he thought this felt more like meeting with Death Eaters than simple talk with a classmate. Then again, Nott  _ was  _ probably a Death Eater.

Looking around, he found no trace of anyone being there. He dragged himself up the dusty stairs, boards creaking under his feet loudly. Distantly he wondered why the floors were made of wood at all – it wasn’t a suitable material for prison. For he assumed it to once had been a prison, even if he wasn’t sure what use were the dungeons if that was the case. There was no use dwelling on it either way – barely anything made sense in the castle and on the grounds; this was no stranger than the rest of it.

He started wondering if Nott was there at all. Casting a quick  _ tempus  _ he forced himself to bite back the wave of irritation. It was past nine already! Where was the Slytherin!? Harry hoped he didn’t plan on meeting at the very top of the tower, since he had little intention to walk all the way up there.

He didn’t have to, in the end. He found a tall figure leaning against a wall in the room on the third floor. The anxiety in his chest hit him full force.

“Potter,” Nott’s voice carried a slight note of surprise. He probably hadn’t expected Harry to come. Which was fair, since Harry hadn’t truly expected him to turn up either.

“Nott,” he returned in a forced calm tone, not giving away any of the emotions running through his head, nor the instinct screaming at him to  _ run the fuck away. _

For several long moments they stood in a tense silence, Nott staring determinedly onto the wall and Harry staring at Nott. It was getting too much to bear. Fast.

“You wanted to talk,” Harry said, leaving the statement open. The other boy nodded, but didn’t say anything. Harry scowled at him and threw cautious looks around. Were they alone?

“You can’t tell anyone about this,” Nott blurted out suddenly, bringing Harry’s full attention right back at him.

“About meeting you?”

Nott shook his head. “About… what I’m going to ask.” Harry raised his eyebrows. Suspicious didn’t begin to cover this. He took a breath to point out he couldn’t realistically promise that, when Nott spoke again: “You saw him return, didn’t you? The Dark Lord.”

Harry stared at the boy with a dumbfounded expression. Of all the possible questions he was  _ not _ expecting to be asked that one. Not from a Slytherin. Not from someone who’s family were Death Eaters. “Yes,” he said simply, not sure if he should be worried or not.

Something flashed across Nott’s face, too fast for Harry to identify properly. “So he really is back.”

Again, Harry could just nod. He did not understand what the Slytherin was getting at. Why this conversation took this turn. He did not enjoy that feeling.

“And he’s really… you know… planning war?”

Harry blinked. “Well, that’s what I assume to be the case, I don’t see into his head. Why are you asking about this, anyway?” He ran a hand through his hair. How come Nott didn’t know for sure? His father had  _ met _ Voldemort, acted on his orders, for crying out loud! Surely a Death Eater’s son couldn’t be this clueless.

“Well… I wanted to be sure,” was the answer. At that point Nott was looking anywhere but at Harry.

“You weren’t?” Harry questioned before he could stop himself. He felt like hitting his head on the nearest wall. Way to put his feet in his mouth. At least now the Slytherin looked at him.

“We’re not all Death Eaters, you know?” his lips curled into a snarl. 

Harry had trouble keeping the snort from leaving his throat. As if he’d believe that. They were Slytherins. “Even if,” he rolled his eyes, “your dad is.” There wasn’t much more to it. One member of a household being a Death Eater was entirely too many people in the family following Voldemort.

The Slytherin’s expression went from angry and insulted into a carefully guarded one in a blink of an eye. “My father’s loyalties don’t matter.” There was a hard edge to his tone, one that left Harry with a bad feeling in his stomach; chills running down his spine. He ignored the admittedly fair point.

“What do you want, Nott?” he questioned again, his own voice sounding strange to him. As if he spoke from bellow water.

“Why do you hate me?” the Slytherin countered with a question of his own.

What? “I don’t hate you,” Harry denied immediately, on instinct. He stood in the dark room with his jaw hanging low, hundreds of thoughts rushing through his mind when the truth of those words caught up with him. He didn’t hate Nott. But the boy was a Slytherin and dark at that…

“You think I’m a Death Eater.”

Harry stuttered. “Well, of course, you’re in Slytherin!” How could he not hate him? His father had tried to kill him – had killed others. Others in his family were likely Death Eaters too. Besides, Harry was supposed to hate him. Because he was a Death Eater, a dark wizard, a Slytherin. So how come he didn’t?

“So? Black was in Gryffindor and he still got your parents killed!”

Harry flinched, finally jerked out of his mental crisis. He barely stopped himself from yelling Sirius didn’t do it. “Maybe he should’ve been in Slytherin then!” he growled instead, thinking of the traitorous rat Pettigrew. That little bastard had no right being in Gryffindor.

“The Sorting hat never makes mistakes,” Nott said confidently.

Harry’s heart skipped a beat.  _ You’d have done well in Slytherin. _ Was it always correct? Sorting a person can’t be an easy thing to do, especially if children yell their preferences at you. _ You could be great you know.  _ Had Pettigrew done what Harry had? Had he asked not to be in Slytherin and the hat complied? Because Harry had had to ask to not be in Slytherin and he had forgotten it. The sorting hat – an artefact made by the founders themselves – had wanted him in Slytherin. Gryffindor had always been a second choice-

“Potter? Potter! Are you okay?” Nott was standing much closer to him. He had a strange expression on his face – worry, perhaps?

“What?” Harry snarled and stepped back. He shook his head. When had he crossed the room? What happened? He took a steadying breath. Nonsense. The hat had placed him in Gryffindor for a reason. “Just leave me alone!” He turned and moved to get out. He’d made a mistake coming there at all. What had he been thinking, meeting with someone like Nott? But... Could the sorting hat had been right? It couldn’t. No way. He was not meant to be Slytherin. Salazar Slytherin would have never wanted him in his house. Except the hat would know that better than him, wouldn’t it? He clenched his jaw. That had not even been the point of the conversation!

“Hold up! I still have a question!” Nott grabbed his arm.

Harry swirled around, pointing his wand at his throat. Nott stumbled back, but still gazed him straight in the eyes. “What have I ever done to you?”

Harry blinked. Was that the original question or just a reaction to the wand in his face? He opened his mouth to say he taunted him, jeered him. That he ridiculed him, tried to curse him, sabotaged his potions or called him names. He wanted to say he insulted Hermione or provoked Ron. But for a life of him, he couldn’t recall any instance of Nott doing any of it. It was always Malfoy. Malfoy and his cronies. And while Nott may have stood by, he never did it himself as far as Harry remembered. “You’re… Slytherin,” he said in the end. Slytherins were evil and cruel.

“Is that it?” Nott asked. Harry nodded jerkingly, feeling a bit stupid as he lowered his wand – that might have been a bit of an over-reaction on his part. Nott quirked an eyebrow at him. “You’re very quick to judge.”

Harry clenched his jaw. Maybe, but anyone in his place would be. “You killed my parents!” he spat, and brought his wand back up.

“I was one at the time! How could I have?!”

“Your master did!”

“I. Do. Not. Have. A master.” There was something in his voice that made Harry pause in taking out his frustration. He couldn’t quite put his finger on it, but it made doubting the Slytherin’s words difficult. Nott’s eyes were blazing and Harry felt the urge to take a step back. He resisted.

“Prove it,” he dared the other boy. He was sure he’d refuse. There was no way-

“How?”

Harry stared. No. Way. He must’ve heard wrong. But Nott’s face was a picture of pure determination, his jaw set, eyes hard, staring right into his. Harry gulped. How  _ did  _ one prove something like that? Veritaserum? Legilimency? Neither was really an option.

“How do I prove it, Potter?” Nott’s expression morphed into mocking. “Tell me, I would  _ love  _ to know. We all would.”

There was no easily accessible way to prove it. There was no  _ legal  _ way to prove it. His hand fell to his side, the wand still clenched in it. “You can’t,” he muttered, feeling lost. It was stupid. What was magic good for if it couldn’t make sure someone was telling the truth?

“We can’t,” Nott agreed quietly. “No one can.” The heavy silence broken by the following sentence sounded like an accusation to Harry’s ears: “But you’d believe Rivers if he were the one saying it.”

Rivers. Ravenclaw boy in their year. Pureblood. Harry never talked to him either. “He’s not in Slytherin,” he said. Not an excuse at all. Not a reason. Not if he was supposed to be one too. “Slytherins are dark,” he added, voice barely a whisper, not even wanting to contemplate the implications of that mental leap.

“Dark doesn’t equal evil,” Nott spat back at him.

“Are the Unforgivables not evil?” Harry demanded, louder. Killing curse, a curse to torture someone to insanity, mind control… One could not get more downright evil!

“Those are not the only dark spells out there!”

“I can’t imagine the rest being much better!”

“DEFENDING ONE’S SELF IS NOT EVIL!” Nott shouted at him. His voice rang around the room, the echo sounding for long seconds.

“There are other ways to defend yourself!” Harry shot back at him before the echo even reached them the second time.

“You won’t get far with stunners!” Nott bit out. Before Harry could oppose him on that he growled: “This is pointless,” and stormed out of the room. Harry could hear him rushing down the stairs. He slammed the door leading out of the tower.

Harry stood frozen in one place; hands shaking, head spinning. It’d been a mistake coming there. Nott was clearly trying to manipulate him, somehow. I’m not a Death Eater so tell me what you know. That was it. That  _ had to  _ be it. Slytherins were evil and bound to be Death Eaters and he was not one. Dark magic was evil and wrong. Harry didn’t want to contemplate any other option. There couldn’t be any other option. For his sanity, he had to believe that. 

He scoffed angrily. Nott was good; too good, in fact. He certainly had managed to make him doubt. Doubt his beliefs, himself, everyone around him.  _ You’re very quick to judge. _ No. He just knew how the world around him worked. It was clear, it always had been, ever since he’d entered it.  _ But the world isn’t split between good people and Death Eaters,  _ Sirius’ voice said in his head with seriousness so unlike his godfather. 

He left the tower with a scowl plastered on his face, deep in thought. Sirius was wrong. Sirius had to be wrong. There were good people and dark wizards. Albus Dumbledore and Lord Voldemort. The Order and the Death Eaters. The good and the evil. Gryffindors and Slytherins. But if that was so, where did it put the others? The Ravenclaws and the Hufflepuffs. The ministry, protecting the people with all they could, yet so determined not to see the threat. What of them? Who were they?

He hadn’t even started on those who defected. Wormtail – a Gryffindor, member of The Order of the Phoenix. And a Death Eater spy. Mundungus Fletcher – an informant for the Order. And a traitor. Snape and Regulus Black – Slytherins, Death Eaters, dark wizards. One a spy for the light side, the other a traitor and a hero of the first war. What was he supposed to make of them? Could there be others like them? 

_ We’re not all Death Eaters, you know.  _ His stomach gave a sudden lurch. Harry barely stopped himself from losing his breakfast in the hall. Could Nott have been telling the truth? How was Harry supposed to know?! How could he believe him, a Slytherin! Nott would have to prove it first!  _ How do I prove it?  _ He pushed the memory of Nott’s mocking face out of his mind. It didn’t matter, Nott was lying anyway, wasn’t he? His father had attacked the headquarters. His family was full of Death Eaters. He  _ must have _ been lying. 

“Hello, Harry,” a girly voice sang next to him, almost making him jump out of his skin. He was already pulling his wand out when his eyes landed on a dreamy girl; bare-foot, wand tucked behind her ear.

“Luna,” he breathed out. “What are you doing here? Where are your shoes?”

“Nargles,” Luna said by the way of explanation, shrugging lightly. She frowned at him. “The Wrackspurts seem to have stayed. That’s strange.”

It took Harry a while of staring at her blankly to remember what Wrackspurts were supposed to be. He didn’t try to comprehend the Nagr… Nargr… the first word she’d said. “There’s nothing in my hair,” he repeated his argument from the train.

And just like at the train, Luna disagreed. “Of course there is! They are making you not understand even simple concepts. You do need to get rid of them.” She nodded to herself.

Harry took a breath, then ran a hand over his face. “Luna… I-”

“Oh, I know! The Slytherin boy confused you.”

Harry froze. “What Slytherin boy?” he denied. How did she…? Did she see them talk? He hoped she hadn’t  _ heard  _ them.

“The one just now, in the Dark Tower. Don’t worry, it will be clear soon enough.” She gave him a bright smile, but her eyes were as distant as ever. “I just hope it won’t be too late by then.”

“Too late for what?” Harry asked roughly, his heart sinking.  _ We’re not all Death Eaters, you know.  _ Not yet, but they might soon be. Why did Nott want to talk to  _ him  _ anyway?

Luna looked up into his eyes. “Too late for who,” she corrected, offering no reassurance whatsoever. Her eyes darted to the side, looking behind him. A smile appeared on her face as she waved. “Hello, Neville!”

Harry spun to look at the approaching boy. His godbrother was looking at them with a strange expression. Harry felt a lump forming in his throat. If Luna said something to him…

“Hello.” Neville’s voice sounded very uncertain, shooting wary looks at the girl standing barefoot in the middle of the cool corridor. “Where are your shoes?”

“Nargles,” Luna shrugged the question off again. Harry was really starting to wonder whether he was supposed to know what it meant. By the look on Neville’s face, no.

He saw Luna’s face brighten and couldn’t help but worry. “Maybe you can make him see,” she told Neville.

“Pardon me?” Neville cast a questioning look on Harry. Harry shrugged and rolled his eyes behind Luna’s back.

“Harry. You can make him see!”

Neville looked between the two of them. “Make him see what?”

“-Nothing,” Harry cut off whatever Luna was going to say. Neville really didn’t need to know about the fiasco that was the meeting with Nott. Harry was still trying to figure out how Luna even knew. 

Neville, however, just gave a suspicious glance and turned back to the Ravenclaw girl. “What has he done this time?” Harry felt inexplicably offended.

“Nothing. He just doesn’t understand.” Luna taking his side made nothing to ease Harry’s stress.

“It’s nothing Neville, really. She thinks I have- what was it – Wrackspurts in my hair,” Harry said, shaking his head with a deliberately resigned expression. He was rewarded by a similar brief look of resignation on Neville’s face.

“There is nothing in his hair, Luna,” he told the girl and turned to Harry. “Ron’s been looking for you.”

“Oh? Where is he?” Harry asked, not giving Luna a chance to get a word in. He wondered if he imagined the look of irritation that crossed her face before it took on its usual dreaminess.

Neville shrugged. “He said he’s going to go flying since it’s finally stopped raining.” Harry’s eyes drifted to a window. So it has.

“I’ll go find him then.” He nodded at his godbrother. “Care to join?”

Neville shook his head. “I’m supposed to meet up with Nandini at the greenhouses.”

Harry grinned at him. “That’s on the way. Come on.” He grabbed his arm and almost dragged him down the hall. “See you later, Luna!” he called over his shoulder. He didn’t hear an answer, but hoped the girl wasn’t too cross with him.

“You’re not being yourself,” Neville noted as they were walking down the bright halls. Harry stiffened and had to force himself to continue walking.

“What do you mean?”

Neville watched him with an unreadable expression. “I don’t know,” he admitted. “You look…. Distracted.”

“I haven’t slept well,” Harry brushed off, not even lying. The burning in his scar that morning was definitely one of the worse ones. And the nerves of meeting the Slytherin didn’t help much.

Neville winced. “Cedric again?” he asked quietly. Harry nodded after a second, hoping Neville would attribute his hesitation to an unwillingness to speak of what happened the previous year rather then him lying. He really ought to get better at controlling his reactions.

Some of the tension left his shoulders when Neville grimaced and shot him a pitying look. Normally Harry hated pity, but at that moment he was just happy Neville wasn’t going to dig into it deeper. The true test, however, would come with Ron – the other boy probably knew him better than he knew himself.

The two godbrothers parted ways in front of the school and Harry walked towards the quidditch pitch slowly. He saw several figures in the air, practising and sighed. He hoped Ron would be content to fly for a bit longer, ideally forgetting about his disappearance, but he knew he’d have no such luck.

Approaching the stands, Harry felt his stomach roll over. Leaning against the wooden barriers were a black boy and a tanned girl with her hair flying around her face in the wind. Both Slytherins. Two people he was sure hung out with Nott a lot. He gulped, realizing he had to pass by them. He wondered if Nott had already managed to tell them.

Neither of the duo paid him any mind as he walked by with bowed head, both of them too preoccupied with threatening the other over their discussion. Harry hurried onto the pitch, looking up.

It didn’t take more than a brief look to pick out the form of his best friend, zooming around high above him. He started to wonder how to grab Ron’s attention when the redhead started descending rapidly. He pulled up a few meters above the ground, opting to land safely rather than quickly. Harry thought that maybe Ron had more common sense than he did when it came to matters like this.

“Hey, mate, where have you been?” The first sentence out of Ron’s mouth destroyed any hope Harry had for not having to explain himself. He sighed.

“Couldn’t sleep.”

Ron quirked an eyebrow at him. “Ginny mentioned. But where had you been? She said you went looking for Hermione, but-”

“I didn’t,” Harry admitted outright. Ron was sure to had asked Hermione whether she’d seen him and, well, she couldn’t have. Harry would be worried if she had. “I… wanted to be alone,” Harry muttered. That was a lie. Terrible one at that. Judging by the sceptical glance Ron gave him, he knew it as well. A silent moment passed, filled with the chatter of the people surrounding them and wind blowing. Harry tried not to think about how he hated lying to Ron.

“Wanna fly?” Ron asked in the end. Harry hesitated. Ron did not believe him; knew he was lying. 

“Of course,” Harry agreed, a small smile appearing on his face.

***

Flying, Harry decided, was the best idea anyone’s had since they arrived at Hogwarts. Not only was it fun - it was also a great way to clear his head. The cold wind blowing into his face, trashing his hair around; the adrenaline of pummeling to the ground at top speed and the absolute control over the broom whisked any worry right out of his mind.

No matter what, nothing could go wrong as long as he was flying. Unless someone was cursing his broom, or there was a house-elf trying to murder him with a bludger, or dementors turned up. Harry grinned at the thought. Trust him to pick up the single most dangerous sport in the wizarding world and make in even more life-threatening.

He caught the sight of Ron hovering by the stands, talking with Hermione; a book pressed tightly to her chest. He closed in on them.

“Harry!” Hermione waved at him. “Are you alright?” she frowned at him.

Harry nodded. “Yeah, much better now.” He moved the hair covering the scar on his forehead slightly, showing his friends how pronounced it is. There was no need for words. Matching worried scowls appeared on his best friends’ faces.

“Shouldn’t we tell Dumbledore?” Hermione asked quietly.

“Tell him what? That my scar hurt?” Harry questioned, noticing the unhappy scoff that escaped Ron at the mentioning of the Headmaster.

“It might be important.”

Harry tilted his head. “I don’t think so.”

Hermione glared at him. “You are just angry because he wouldn’t let you join the Order,” she hissed.

Harry shrugged. He had been angry, yes. “So are you,” Ron pointed out. “I don’t know… did you have a nightmare?”

Harry nodded. “Cedric.” The name came out as barely a whisper. He shuddered. He could still see the older boy’s empty eyes staring at him from the ground.

“Then it’s probably nothing,” Ron concluded. Harry agreed with him. He had had nightmares for as long as he could remember, and every time Voldemort featured in them his scar ended up like this. Hermione still looked unconvinced.

Before she could express her opinion, however, a flash of light blinded them, followed immediately by a loud bang tearing through the air, making them all jump. They looked up as one, eyes set on the black clouds hanging over them. Another rumbling sound echoed.

“We need to get down,” Harry said to Ron. He started his descend after receiving a short nod from the taller boy. To his great relief, the Slytherins were already gone, although he was sure that the disastrous meeting had not been the end of it.

“Still no word from Snuffles?” Ron asked when Hermione joined them by the broom-shed. Harry stared at him blankly before the event from two days ago caught up with him.

“Oh, he did!” He rummaged through his bag. “On Thursday, actually.” He saw their expressions and felt his cheeks heat up. “Sorry. I forgot, what with McLaggen and everything,” he muttered, averting his eyes. He handed the letter to Ron, who merely rolled his eyes and engaged himself in reading it. Hermione kept glaring at him. “I didn’t do it on purpose!” Harry frowned at her, irritation quickly replacing the embarrassment.

“Hey, Hermione, what did you do with the advanced arithmancy?” Ron cut off whatever she was about to say. It was her turn to blush. She muttered something under her breath and took the letter from Ron.

“What was it?” Harry quirked an eyebrow. “I didn’t catch that.”

“I said I borrowed some books,” she huffed.

“Oh did you?” Ron asked at the same time as Harry wondered:

“Is it still borrowing if the owner doesn’t know you took them?”

Hermione scowled at both of them and picked up her pace. “I was going to return them. I just… wasn’t sure if Mrs Weasley would let me take them out of the house.”

Both Ron and Harry frowned at that. “Hermione, my mom can’t decide that.”

“What do you mean she can’t decide that?” Hermione appeared offended. Harry wondered how she thought the world worked if she couldn’t work this out.

“Well, they are Sir- Snuffles’ books. From his family library. It’s none of mom's business.” 

Hermione looked at them over her shoulder and hesitated. “I suppose,” she sighed. She handed the letter back to Harry. “Anyway… the dungeons?”

Nott. Harry felt faint. He’d managed to forget about him while in the air, but now the entire fiasco came rushing back. It was all he could do to not grab something for support. If either of his friends noticed, they didn’t say anything – well, if Ron did, because Hermione certainly  _ would _ say something.

“Is your friend alright?” Harry heard a male voice ask and his eyes darted to the sound, seeing the portrait of Selwyn in front of him. He almost felt Hermione’s eyes snap at him and barely restrained himself from scowling at her.

“Yes, their friend is alright,” he frowned at the portrait instead. Selwyn looked at him blankly, then glanced at Hermione. Harry thought he saw an apologetic expression cross his face before he let them in.

“So, what is going on?” Hermione asked with a sharp look fixed at Harry.

Harry felt like hitting Selwyn, which unfortunately wasn’t an option. He collapsed onto a sofa and sprawled out into his usual comfortable position, staring at the ceiling.

“Same as always,” he said, hoping it would be enough of an explanation for her. He really couldn’t tell them about Nott. Maybe if it had gone better, but as it was, it would be preferable to not let them know. 

_ But,  _ an annoying inner voice butted in,  _ maybe you’ve screwed it up. Maybe you were wrong. Maybe you are all wrong.  _ It was all Harry could do to keep himself from scowling angrily. He hadn’t been wrong and he could not wait to become good enough in occlumency to be able to silence the damned voice. 

“You really should talk about Cedric to someone,” Hermione said. “It is not healthy to bottle something like that up.”

That time Harry did scowl. “I don’t want to talk about it,” he dismissed the idea. 

“Well, but you still should,” she insisted. Harry rolled his eyes. Trust Hermione to try and force him into something like that.

“Yeah, yeah.” He waved his hand. “Just as you should apologize to Lavender for calling her a dumb cow.”

Ron snorted at Hermione’s spluttering. “That- That is something completely different! You can’t compare- You just cannot compare that!” 

Harry watched in amusement as she worked up quite a blush. Her hands shook in her lap, fists clenched.

“Leave him alone Hermione,” Ron told her. “You know he won’t talk about it.”

Hermione turned to glare at him instead. “Stop supporting it!”

Ron raised his hands. “Hey, I’m not-”

“Besides,  _ you _ never talk about what is bothering you either!” Harry thought that wasn’t quite true, but didn’t say so aloud. 

“Well, it’s not like anyone is actually going to understand it!” Ron snapped back at her. “Most people don’t barely escape death several times a year, you know!”

Hermione opened her mouth. Harry could almost see the wheels turning in her head. She closed it with a huff. She didn’t seem to have an argument to that. “It’s still not healthy,” she muttered.

Harry exchanged glances with Ron and they shrugged. Harry assumed she was right – there had to be a reason muggles had psychologists after all. At the same time, he honestly didn’t think there would be anyone able to understand what the three of them had gone through since their first year. It would be too much for most people – Merlin knew it was too much for Harry on some days. Sometimes he wondered how and why were they still alive. He especially should have been dead by then. Several times over.

It always came down to his luck, he supposed. Not encouraging for someone who got into dangerous situations quite as often as he did. Maybe he should focus more on his studies. And he should start with occlumency. He held no hope for Dumbledore telling them anything even if they would manage it, but he didn’t like the idea of just anyone snooping around his head. So, he had to practice, even if it seemed to bring no results. What did he know maybe he’d manage it eventually. He certainly hoped so.


	9. Head of Slytherin

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Regulus A. Black aka the Defense teacher who actually knows his job.

The Defense Against the Dark Arts was a class that Harry had always had mixed feelings about. It sounded both interesting and cool and it certainly could be both of those things and many more if taught by a competent teacher. Unfortunately, competent teachers of the subject seemed to grace the halls of Hogwarts sparsely. Regulus Black was the fifth professor teaching the subject to Harry in as many years.

The first two men had – frankly – sucked. They had been terrible even before they had attacked Harry. The next two had been pretty good, but with the unfortunate drawback of either being a werewolf – which wasn’t truly a problem as long as one remembered to take the Wolfsbane potion – or being straight up a Death Eater out to murder Harry. So, with four out of four Defense professors having attacked Harry at one point or another for various reasons, Harry found it hard to believe that Regulus Black, the Head of Slytherin House, would be any different. 

That was not to say he expected the man to be hostile, terrible person like Snape or try to murder him or drag to Voldemort. He was a war hero and a brother of his godfather after all. However, the track record clearly stated that he should expect being attacked by him eventually. What Harry didn’t anticipate was the ‘eventually’ being during the first practical lesson and the ‘attack’ to be a duel demonstration for the mixed Gryffindor – Slytherin class.

The day had started like a typical Monday at Hogwarts would – with Harry pointedly ignoring most of his housemates, eating breakfast at the very end of the Gryffindor table and then going off to sleep through double History of Magic. He had managed a rather decent attempt at his potion – right after he’d made peace with the fact that the country music was not a one-time event – in Beltaine’s class. After lunch the crazy Trelawney had predicted his death one more time – he would suffer a grave injury in the dark sewer. Joke was on her – that had already happened.

Then he’d made his way to the Defense classroom, not quite sure what to expect of the lesson. While Black had said Mondays would be practical lessons and Fridays would alternate between theory and practical, he was not certain what to make of the approach. The man couldn’t possibly believe they would be able to fight anything – not after years of subpar teaching. Yet that was precisely what the new head of Slytherin seemed to expect.

A group of students stood in front of the Defense classroom uneasily. The usual chatter was toned down, people shuffled around, the tension almost palpable. For once there was no jeering going on as everyone waited for what most – Harry included – expected to be a disaster of a lesson. 

“I am going to fail this class,” Neville whispered to Harry, the nerves obvious in his voice. His shoulders squared.

“We are all going to fail this class,” Hermione muttered. Her face had taken on a pale shade, her hands shook. Harry kept an eye on her, trying to figure out what was making her so anxious. While he saw no way this particular lesson could end well, he’d never guess Hermione would be the most nervous person in their group. The most nervous as far as he could tell anyway – he wasn’t exactly watching the Slytherins, mostly because that would involve seeing Nott and that was something he wanted to avoid at all cost.

The door to the classroom opened, revealing the tall form of their professor. Black wore his usual casual dark robes with a thin cloak thrown over his shoulders. He ran his eyes over them with half-amused expression. 

“Next week I expect you to come straight to the Armoury. Come on then, there’s nothing to fear,” he said and led them away, deeper into the castle.

Harry followed the man feeling more and more confused the longer they walked. The Armoury was a room adjacent to the Trophy Room and they were going the opposite direction. Fortunately, he wasn’t the only one to have noticed that slight detail, as moments later Parvati asked: “Professor, aren’t we… going the wrong way?”

“Why would we be going the wrong way?” Black responded with a question of his own.

“Well,” Alice joined in, “the Armoury is… by the Trophy Room. On the third floor.”

“That is the Armour Gallery,” Black informed them matter-of-factly. “Armoury is a completely different room. One that hasn’t been used in years.”

Harry quirked his eyebrow at Ron and Hermione. They had never come across such a room before. It wasn’t on the map either, as far as he was aware. How was that even possible? He had thought all rooms were meant to be there. They couldn’t discuss that particular topic there, however. The last thing he wanted was anyone learning about the Marauder’s Map.

Black came to a stop in the middle of a corridor off of the Transfiguration Courtyard. He pressed his hand against one of the wooden panels that were scattered randomly on the wall. It glowed gently and a hole – an arched entrance – appeared in its place. Harry blinked, stunned. How- He shook his head. Of course there was a hidden room like that. The castle had a hidden chamber under the girls' bathroom, of course, it would have a hidden duelling room. He followed his classmates inside.

The Armoury was a long and wide room of rectangular shape and with high ceiling. The only windows were at the far end. The walls were mostly empty; only lit candles and several torches on them. There were empty racks on the longer walls – Harry assumed someone had removed all the weapons that had to had been there at one point. Two benches were pushed into a corner much like in his primary school’s gym.

The students filed into the room cautiously, not knowing what to do or how to proceed. Black faced them from the middle of the training area.

“I believe you will be able to find this place by yourselves next week,” he claimed. His voice echoed around the room loudly even if he never raised his voice above the normal speech level. Harry was impressed. There was no way anyone could pretend to not have heard him in that room.

“Now, as your… education in this subject has been rather uneven I have decided it would not be amiss to bring a practical aspect to these lessons. But before I get to any of that, there is a pressing need to put down several rules that are to be followed at all times otherwise you will spend the rest of the year in detention or worse.” He gave them all a stern look. Harry wondered if the worse was meant to imply they could get expelled over not following the man’s directions. He resolved to do his best to not be the one finding out.

“First of all,” Black held up his left hand with his index finger sticking up, “none of you will touch their wand unless directed to do so. Understood?” They all nodded.

“Good. Second,” another finger joined the first, while he took out his wand with his other hand, “this is a wand.” The only thing stopping Harry from laughing was the deadly serious expression on Black’s face. “Wand can be used for many things, among them hurting people. Because of that, you will never, I repeat  _ never _ , point your wand at  _ anyone _ unless you intend to perform a spell on them.” They all nodded as he looked them over. “If anyone points a wand at you without warning or your express permission, you are safe to assume they wish you harm.” All around Harry people shuffled uncomfortably, but acknowledged the information.

“Next rule. There will be absolutely no ridicule in this room. Any strategy is acceptable, no question is stupid, no spell, curse, hex or jinx is useless. If you can win a fight with Tripping hex you will use the Tripping hex. If you have to vanish someone’s clothes to distract them to be able to win, you are welcome to do so, but there will be absolutely no jeering or taunting over it from you, or the ones watching. Is that understood?” Students nodded, but they were all uneasy. Harry wasn’t sure if it was a good idea to allow such things. Perhaps if the combination of the houses was different, but Slytherin and Gryffindor… that could only end in a disaster.

“Because of this, the fourth rule is: Everything that happens in this room stays in this room and will not be discussed anywhere else. I believe we are all old enough to be able to uphold something like this without magical protections.”

Harry wondered whether they were in fact mature enough. He certainly would uphold it, so would others, but there were some people he doubted. Seamus for example wouldn’t keep his mouth shut. Parkinson was a big gossip too and Lavender Brown was no better.

“The fifth and the final rule. If we are practising certain spells, then we are practising those spells and those spells only, so you  _ will not _ use any other spells. If we are duelling any spells are allowed with the obvious exception of the Unforgivables. However, you will remember that your objective is to incapacitate or disarm your opponent not kill them. Any excessive use of force will lead to a long detention or suspension. Any questions?”

Harry looked around, not having anything to ask. Threatening them with suspension might be the best idea any of their Defense professors has ever had. He did see Dean raising his hand, however. Black nodded at him.

“What about Dark Magic? Is  _ that _ allowed?” Dean’s voice sounded strange, as if his throat was closed up and he was forcing the words out. Harry nearly rolled his eyes. Of course Dark Magic wouldn’t be allowed, on account of it being almost illegal and generally nasty. 

Black raised one of his eyebrows slightly. “Naturally.”

There was an outcry from the Gryffindor side of the room. How could he allow the Dark Magic!? Harry himself drew back, his thoughts swirling. Dark Magic was allowed. But this was Defense  _ Against  _ it!

Black raised his hand in an attempt to silence the outraged lions. Harry noticed the Slytherins looked… resigned. His eyes met with Nott’s and he turned away abruptly before he could name the emotion he saw on his face. He felt a sharp stab in his chest as Black started speaking.

“I see this was not explained properly either,” he sighed. Harry blinked owlishly. Properly? What was there to explain? Dark Magic was evil and should be illegal, that was the end of it.  _ Dark doesn’t equal evil. _

“Dark Arts can be divided into several categories, one of which is what we commonly call Dark Magic. It is a term we use to call any spells meant to harm, control, maim or kill another being. It is generally discouraged field of study for various reasons, which is probably where the misunderstanding stems from.

You see, this subject is called Defense Against the Dark Arts. Here you are, in theory, taught how to do exactly that. However, let’s look at the spells we’re learning closer shall we? There are the spells meant to detect poisons, dark creatures and other such things. We will ignore those for now. Then there are defensive spells such as Disarming charm or various shield charms. Then there is the stunner, which can be used for many things, but you see it most often in combat. And then there are various jinxes, hexes and curses.”

Black looked at them sternly, giving them a chance to prepare themselves – or that was what Harry assumed anyway. Maybe he was just checking whether they understood so far.

“Knee-reversal hex. Taught to first years. Can any of you think of a way it could be used for other than maliciously reversing someone’s knees?”

The class shook their heads after a moment of contemplation. Harry listened with a sinking feeling, refusing to look at the Slytherin group. He knew where this was going. He could hear Nott’s voice echoing.

“No? Then, by the definition, Knee-reversal hex is Dark Magic.” Black made a pause to let it sink in. “All three – jinxes, hexes and curses – are Dark Magic. Full Body-Bind Curse is, as the name tells us, a curse as well. Thus it is Dark Magic as well. Again, we teach it to first years.”

Harry saw several of his housemates shaking their heads in denial. He was half tempted to join them. That could not be true. Everyone had always said Dark Magic could only be used for evil.  _ Defending one’s self is not evil,  _ Nott’s voice taunted. Harry ignored it with a scowl.

“Dark Magic can be further divided into Gray and Black. Gray Magic is the part of Dark Magic that can be used safely by  _ anyone.  _ By which I mean, everything you learn in this class and more. Black Magic is the part of Dark Magic that is rather more difficult to control. The Unforgivables, the Fiendfyre, the Blood-Boiling Curse. They all carry a potential threat of consuming the caster, of turning him insane. Some Curses are designed in a way that will… damage the caster intentionally while inflicting harm on someone else as well. 

To simplify the matter, Gray Magic is battle magic that is perfectly fine to use. Black Magic is battle magic that only those who are sure they can handle it should use.”

Harry stared at the man, quietly, painfully aware Nott was probably glaring holes in him. This couldn’t be true, could it? They would’ve been told sooner, wouldn’t they? But he knew they wouldn’t have, not from any of the previous professors. And in hindsight, now the fake Moody teaching them Unforgivables made just a tiny bit more sense.

“Do you all understand this?” Black asked, looking exclusively at the Gryffindors in the room. Harry felt kind of called out. 

Dark doesn’t equal evil, indeed. Maybe Nott hadn’t been entirely wrong. Maybe he wasn’t lying at all. If that was true... then Harry was the same bigoted asshole he took the Slytherins for.

“Are there any other questions?”

Hermione raised her hand. Harry hoped she wasn’t going to protest the previous lecture like he was sure she would love to.

“But isn’t this dangerous?” she questioned and Harry sighed in relief.

“It is,” Black admitted. “But controlled environment with a mediwitch at hand should anything go wrong is much better training grounds than a fight for your life when someone decides they don’t like you.”

After that no more questions were asked. Black snapped his fingers and a glittery silver barrier created a sort of arena inside of the room. “That is a ward that will stop any magic cast inside this area from reaching outside and vice versa,” he said and threw a minor jinx at the wall to demonstrate.

“Today I want to see how well you do with the spells you do already know, so we will be duelling. You will duel with me. The person fighting will be inside of this arena and anyone else will remain outside, watching us. Is that clear?”

They all nodded.

“Good. The student fighting will be the only one of you with their wand drawn.” They nodded again to acknowledge the direction.

Black smiled in satisfaction and clapped his hands. “Now, I was given to understand that Mr Potter is on top of your class in this subject.” He looked straight at Harry, who felt his stomach sink. He nodded nevertheless. Black motioned for him to enter the arena. 

The wards felt strange on his skin. It was sort of like walking through a liquid, but at the same time it felt like pushing his way through a wall of jelly or honey. He drew his wand carefully, distantly registering his classmates moving to get a better look.

“I do not assume you have been given training in the proper etiquette of duelling.”

Harry shrugged. “You bow, then walk… some steps from the other person. Wait for referee to count to three.” That was all he remembered from the disaster that was the duelling club in their second year.

Black snorted. “More or less. We will be forgoing this for today. I will probably steal several minutes of Professor’s Flitwick’s time to have him explain at a later date.” Harry gulped as Black looked him over, his fingertips cold as he clenched his wand tightly. He felt like was being judged. He was being judged, he realized. By everyone in the room, in fact. Most of them were waiting to see his ass getting kicked by the professor. He silently cursed Black for making him go first.

He trailed his wand at the man opposite of him, not quite sure how to proceed. Black mirrored his movement with significantly more grace and experience. He was calm and relaxed, his eyes watching Harry like a hawk. 

Harry really had no idea what to do, but had a strange feeling that Black would not shoot off the first spell. Hesitantly he jerked his wand into the Disarming charm movement. “Expelliarmus.” 

A jet of scarlet light sped through the significant space between him and his opponent. Black stepped to a side and the spell rammed into the ward, crackled and disappeared.

Harry looked at the man uncertainly. Black was looking at him with a raised eyebrow and a slight grin on his face. Harry scowled.

“Diffindo, Stupefy!” he growled, chaining the wand movements. Jet of green and red light flew out of his wand.

Again, Black merely stepped aside and both charms flew past him. He didn’t say a single word, but his expression talked for him. Harry clenched his jaw.

“Vermillious Duo,” Harry snarled and sent red sparks with electrical discharge at the man. “Rictusempra, Lacarnum inflamari!” Two other spells followed in rapid succession. “Duro!”

Harry felt a tiny bit smug when Black conjured a shield to intercept the last spell, instead of sidestepping again.

Immediately afterwards he jumped to a side in panic as a jet of brown light sped towards him. “Reducto!” he snarled, before realizing what that spell would do.

He needn’t have worried, because Black deflected it and sent another curse back at him.

“PROTEGO!” he yelled and the spell slammed into his shield, forcing him to take a step back from the sheer force of impact.

“Deprimo!” Harry aimed at the floor under Black only to see the spell rebound from the man’s shield and speed back towards him. “Protego Duo!”

The spell shattered his shield and sent him flying backwards. “Diffindo!” he snarled with an impact, sending a spell at Black and getting to his feet before the professor could hit him with something.

“Glacius.” He scribbled the rather complicated wand movement clumsily and sent an ice-cold wind at Black, who dispelled it with a single wave of his wand. He then waved his wand again and a flock of birds dived at Harry from all sides.

“Vera Verto!” Harry ordered in panic, watching as one by one the birds changed into goblets and clattered on the floor. He sent some hexes at Black and took time to vanish the damned things before he tripped over them.

“Melofors,” he bit out tiredly. His back hurt from when he was knocked over, his hands shook.

The spell missed it’s mark completely and there were another two racing towards Harry. He dived out of the way, having no idea what they would do to him if they hit.

“Stupefy!” he muttered. “Expelliarmus.” Neither spell came anywhere near hitting the man. 

There was a flash of blinding light and Harry dropped to the ground on instinct. He felt a spell rush above his head more than he saw it and he rolled to one side. “Reducto!” He shot in a direction where he thought Black would be standing. 

Then his shoulder got caught in a jet of green light and he felt a stinging pain shoot into his arm. Moments later a scarlet spell knocked him back down again, his wand ripped from his fingers. 

He laid on the floor frozen for several seconds, staring at the ceiling blankly. It was very high up. He wondered what room was above them.

Then his mind caught up with what just happened. He jerked up and jumped to his feet, looking around wildly. His eyes settled on Black who was walking towards him at a sedate pace, Harry’s wand in hand, his own nowhere to be seen. Harry felt himself blush gently, although he didn’t think anyone would be able to tell – he had to be red anyway.

“That was not nearly as bad as I’ve come to fear,” he said with a gentle smile. He wasn’t even breathing heavily. “There’s much to be improved, certainly, but given your age and the nature of your previous education it was much better than what my colleagues would have me believe.”

Harry took his wand from the man feeling strangely proud of himself. He was not sure why Black thought it was good, Harry was rather certain it was a terrible fight, but he was not going to complain about being praised.

“Let me see that shoulder,” Black ordered next, taking out his wand. He closed the cut with a simple flick of his wand. “Any other injury?” he questioned. Harry shook his head.

“Good, you may join your classmates. Now, let’s say… Mr Finnigan. I’ve been warned you have a certain affinity for exploding things.”

Harry ignored the pale-faced Seamus and joined Ron, Neville and Hermione at the other side of the barrier. Ron clapped his shoulder with a big grin and Neville congratulated him despite his own nerves. Hermione smiled at him but seemed distracted and on edge. Harry nudged Ron and nodded at their friend. Ron shrugged, making Harry frown. What was going on with Hermione?

He watched Seamus shoot several spells at Black, only to have them all miss or splash against the man’s shield.

“He’s going harder on Seamus,” Harry noted after a while of watching. All his friends shook their heads.

“No, this is what he did with you too,” Neville told him. Harry frowned. Surely not. 

“There would be no point in this if he went harder on someone,” Ron added. Harry’s frown deepened. Ron had a point, but… There was no way he got through what he was seeing with just one injury. Seamus already had at least three cuts.

Black chose that moment to hit him with a stunner. One quick Disarming charm later the fight was done. He revived the boy and helped him to his feet, healing the bruises and cuts he had inflicted. He sent him back to the rest of the class, calling for another student: Lavender.

Harry choked back a snicker, thinking that would be a quick fight. He was very surprised when he saw the pretty girl hold her own for at least as long as Seamus and with surprisingly fewer injuries. It did not fit with his image of the gossip queen.

“I did not expect that,” Ron muttered when she finally lost her wand. Harry nodded mutely and resolved to never underestimate any of his classmates again.

Next up were Parvati, Alice, Fay and Dean, all of whom turned out to be at least decent, even if Parvati did lose the fastest and Fay dropped her wand mid-spell.

Several other Gryffindors had their turn before Neville was called up. “Good luck,” Harry muttered to him and Neville jerked his head in thanks. He stood opposite of the professor with a terrified expression, but he wasted no time to start throwing hexes.

Harry watched with keen interest as his godbrother fought their professor. He noticed his spells flew in various directions, often failing to hit the mark. Not because Black sidestepped, but because Neville missed. The fight was over soon, Black taking a moment to point that exact thing out to Neville, noting their aiming as something he’d have to train them if the past few fights were anything to go by.

Neville returned unscathed, except maybe his ego. Harry clapped his shoulder. “Not bad, Neville, not bad at all.” Neville grinned at him weakly and together they watched one of Hermione’s roommates get her ass kicked faster than anyone before her.

“That on the other hand...” Harry noted dryly, prompting a laugh out of both his friends. Hermione looked even worse than before. He was just about to ask her what was wrong when-

“Miss Granger.”

Hermione startled horribly and looked at the man panicked. She stared at him for a long second until Ron nudged her. She startled again and walked slowly into the arena. Her whole body was tense. Harry exchanged worried looks with Ron. This was  _ nothing _ like Hermione.

She stood across the room from Black, facing him. Her wand shook in her hand violently. Harry watched her take a deep breath and stammer through an incantation of the Disarming charm. A weak red light appeared, dying before it reached halfway through the room. The silence in the room was deafening.

“Expelliarmus,” she said again with a shaking voice. Scarlet spell burst out of her wand and sped towards its target. For once Black didn’t sidestep, instead raising a shield with a distracted flick of a wand, his eyes glued to Hermione.

The next spell came more confidently. The one after that was said without the shaking in her voice. But the interest of their classmates was already piqued. Something was very wrong with Hermione Granger.

The first spell Black shot at her was a Disarming charm. Harry watched it speed towards her with a sinking feeling he knew what was bothering her. “Duck!” Ron shouted from his side when Hermione stood frozen in place, staring at the spell approaching. 

It wasn’t even strong enough to knock her a step back. Her wand fell out of her hand straight to the ground. She didn’t move.

Black pocketed his wand and closed the distance between them. He leaned down and whispered something into Hermione’s ear. He handed her something that looked awfully like a bar of chocolate and led her towards the door. She nodded and left the room.

“I believe I don’t have to go over the rules with you again,” Black asked sharply, looking at them all sternly. They shook their heads. What happened would not be talked about. Harry looked around his classmates uneasily. He wasn’t sure he trusted them.

“Good. Mr Weasley, your turn.” He waved for Ron to join him in the arena.

Ron’s fight went well, Harry thought. He held his own for a long time, longer than most of the class. But the easy, lighthearted atmosphere had already been lost with Hermione’s duel.

He was also the last of Gryffindors to fight. It was Slytherins’ turn from then on. Harry at first thought Black would go easier on his own house, but was soon proven wrong. He wiped the floor with the Bulstrode girl.

Harry found himself zoning out a lot, as different Slytherins duelled. He didn’t know most of them, the spells they used mostly made no sense to him and he was far too worried about Hermione to enjoy watching.

He only took note of Crabbe being beaten in under thirty seconds and Pansy proving herself to be a formidable fighter as she stood her ground for as long as Ron had before. 

Then it was Malfoy’s turn. Harry watched absently as the blond quickly resorted to high-power areal spells, much like Seamus and the black boy before him had. They were both beaten rather soundly. 

“Mr Nott.” Harry turned his eyes away as the name was called. He did not enjoy sharing the class with that particular Slytherin. He felt a pair of eyes on him before a first spell was fired. He felt miserable. Had he been wrong?

The last person to fight was another girl – Davis. She was good. She used the tactic Harry attempted with one spell and then discarded – transfiguration. She took the longest of Slytherins to be beaten, right after her came Parkinson.

“Good,” Black said as she rejoined her housemates. “For the first time, it was very good.” Somehow Harry got the feeling he was talking about the class as a whole, not about everyone’s individual attempts.

“I’ve seen what I needed. I believe I have found a duelling partner for most of you as well.” Harry’s blood froze. Duelling partner? If he’d been labelled the best, then surely Black would pair him up with one of the really good ones. And that… well as far as Harry was concerned that would be Ron, Parkinson or the Davis girl. Harry didn’t think Black would be taking into account everyone’s personal feelings towards the other house. He bit down a groan. Just his luck.

“We have,” Black cast a look at his watch, “ten minutes until the bell rings. No point starting on something new. Class dismissed.”

Harry grabbed his bag from where he’d hanged it on one of the racks, intent on finding Hermione.

“Mr Potter,” Black’s voice stopped him in his tracks, “stay after class, would you?”

Harry sighed and waved his hand at Ron, telling him to not wait and go find their friend. Ron nodded and with one last unhappy grimace left the room, leaving Harry alone with the Head of Slytherin House.

“Professor,” Harry said, addressing the man in front of him for the first time ever. What could the man possibly want?

Black shook his head gently. “There is no need to be nervous, your skill was more than satisfactory.” He looked Harry over. “Miss Granger, however...”

Harry felt a lump growing in his throat. He shot a look at the door, contemplating bolting from the room.

“What she showed was a reaction usually observed on survivors of a traumatic event. Do you have any idea what would prompt it?” Black’s voice was fully professional, something Harry found he was grateful for. He hesitated before answering.

“We… There was an attack on a place we were staying at during summer. We saw someone getting killed. Hermione… didn’t take it well.”

Black nodded. “That would explain it, yes.” He took a moment to think. “Please inform her that it is a block she will need to overcome eventually.”

Harry’s first instinct was to yell at the man. No one could force Hermione to duel if she had no desire to do so. She could pass the subject on theory and ability to cast the required spell, she didn’t need to stand in a fight and Black had no right to say otherwise.

Then he thought better of it and found that one, Black did have the right to do so, as he was the teacher, and two, Hermione being a muggleborn meant that she  _ would _ have to fight someone eventually, or she would die. It made him hate Voldemort even more.

“Was there anything else, professor?” he asked after several long moments of hesitation.

Black quirked his lips. “Do remind Sirius that if he blasts down the wall the wards may come along with it,” he drawled. “And tell him that sending howlers counts as communicating.”

Harry stared at the man in front of him, processing what he’d just heard. He wasn’t sure he wanted to know, but he was pretty certain he should ask. He didn’t.

“I… Alright.” He turned and started walking towards the door, when a question jumped to the forefront of his mind. He had no idea where it came from, but he felt he  _ needed _ to ask. He hesitated, but it pressed. It didn’t even fully feel like his thought.

“Professor, how does one know they can handle the… Black Magic?”

“Are you contemplating trying it?”

Harry flinched. “No!” he denied. “I was just… curious.” It was the best way for describing it he had, at any rate.

Black gave him a long stare before answering. “It depends. Dark families have a natural affinity to it – you could say it’s in our blood. That doesn’t mean it’s safe for all of us, just for a larger percentage of us. Muggleborns can be born with an affinity for it too. And it is not unheard of for a Dark oriented wizard to be born into a Light family. If you don’t have an affinity, however, I would recommend not even attempting it.”

Harry felt sick at his next question. Why was he finding it so intriguing? “How does one know if they have… the affinity?”

Black shrugged. “It’s safe to assume so for the Dark families. For muggleborns it’s eighty-twenty for not having it. The rest, well, there are rituals to find out. They are usually only done if there is a suspicion it might be the case.”

Harry nodded slowly. That was good. Very low chances. There was no way he was an exception. Not in this.

“Do you have such suspicions, Mr Potter?” Black asked, ruining Harry’s self-assurance that everything was alright.

He shook his head wildly. “No! I just- No.” He  _ didn’t _ have suspicions. What would they be based on anyway? There was nothing that would indicate he could have such affinity. Why was he thinking like this at all!?

“You do know that the Potter family is a branch of Peverell family, yes?” Black asked cautiously.

“I- No- What?”

Black sighed. “Has no one ever explained how family lines work in the wizarding world?” Harry shook his head. “Very well. Ask Sirius about it. Or come see me after dinner sometime. You of all people should know about this. If you have no other questions?”

Harry shook his head again and backed out of the room. He was deeply troubled by his thoughts and inner voice and very confused by what Black was talking about. Family lines? What was that? He needed to write to Sirius. But first, Hermione. Now, where would she be?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Leave me some feedback people, goddamnit! XD


	10. Nobody expects Ministry Inquisition

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Alright, first off, I know it´s evening, but it is still Sunday, okay? I am not late XD
> 
> Second, to the person who said demanding comments doesn´t result in getting them... it does. Last chapter had three more comments than the one I usually get. [smirks]
> 
> Third, I am now studying from home because our school´s closed and (since that gives me more time to write) I have been considering throwing a bonus chapter at you next week, but I´m not certain if I will manage to pull it off. It is a possibility.
> 
> ...I am sure I had one more point, but I can´t remember it. No matter, I´ll let you get on with the chapter now.

Almost three weeks after the school’s start everyone had managed to forget about the ministry woman. They had seen her in the halls occasionally and she attended every meal in the Great hall, but no one paid her any mind. She was not interesting.

That was why Harry was so surprised to see her sitting in the corner of the Transfiguration classroom, notepad in one hand, quill in the other, watching the students like a hawk. Well, she had more in common with a toad, but toads were not known for watching things. Only flies. And students were not flies.

Harry dropped onto his seat at the front with Ron sitting down beside him unhappily. He was muttering something about how he hated sitting at the front. Harry ignored him in favour of studying the woman.

For some reason she looked eager to be there. That couldn’t be good. What was she to do? Assess teaching methods of various professors? Why had the Minister decided that needed to be done now? It  _ did _ need to be done, there was no question about that, but why now, when there were much more pressing matters. Right, they didn’t believe there were more pressing matters. Harry scowled to himself.

The Ravenclaws slipped into the class a few seconds later, taking their seats as usual. Umbridge jolted something down with a smug glance at the clock. The lesson had started precisely three seconds before they had entered. Harry scratched the back of his head. So that’s how this was going to be.

The door opened again, several seconds later, McGonagall entering swiftly. “My apologies, there was an impromptu meeting regarding a matter that has come up during the break,” she said over the noise of people getting up. Taking her place at the front, she gestured for them to resume their seats. She didn’t spare a single glance at Umbridge.

“Today we will be continuing on the Vanishing spell.” Normally the room would be filled with groans at that statement, but given the presence of the Ministry’s pink mascot, no one dared to let their feelings be known.

“Last lesson you have tried your hand at vanishing snails and I am not at all surprised to say that you did not manage – most of you, anyway.” She smiled at Hermione, who returned the gesture. “That is because vanishing living organisms is more difficult than inanimate objects. Now, Mr Potter already demonstrated his ability to vanish such objects,” she gave him a stern look before placing a wooden box in front of him. “If you would demonstrate, Mr Potter?”

Harry took out his wand and looked at the cube. That shouldn’t be too hard. “Evanseco.” He jabbed his wand at the box and watched as it disappeared. He looked up at McGonagall.

“Very good. Take two points. Although there is no need to wave your wand so aggressively. Remember; light movements. We are not in Defense.” She turned back to the class. “Vanishing a box such as this is not difficult, because it is made entirely of one material – in our case wood. When, however, we take an object made of more than one materials – such as your books, these desks and chairs, or a candle – it becomes more difficult. Now, Mr Thomas, if you would-”

“Ehm, ehm.” McGonagall cut herself off at the interruption. Harry saw her lips purse.

“Yes?” she asked the woman sitting in the corner.

“Oh, I was just wondering if you’ve received my note,” she said in the same fake sweet voice she’d used when delivering her speech. It sent shivers down Harry’s spine.

“Of course I received it or I would have asked what you’re doing here.” McGonagall turned back and handed Dean a muggle pen. “Vanish this for us, Mr Thomas, would you?”

Dean waved his wand with a muttered “Evansesco” and the pen was gone. He placed his wand back onto his desk.

“Very good. Two points for you as well.” She returned to the front of the class. “Now, let’s imagine we have a box full of needles – there is fifty of them in there – and we have two game dices – one wooden and one metal. What do you think would be more difficult to vanish, Mr Rivers?”

Harry tuned out Rivers’ explanation and focused on Umbridge. She was alternating between scowling at McGonagall’s back and scribbling into her notepad. He frowned at her, but then was forced to turn his attention back to the lecture as Ron nudged him.

“Two points to Ravenclaw. Moving now to the animate objects; we must discuss the differences of the process. Vanishing inanimate objects is merely a question of vanishing matter. A piece of iron is not going to object as it is not alive; has no will. Creatures, animals or even plants, on the other hand, are going to object vehemently. It is an obstacle one must overcome by either greater will, or a greater power – or both. Yes, Miss Brocklehurst?”

“Does this- Does it kill the animals?” the Ravenclaw girl asked in a small voice. Harry felt the shift of the mood in the class as every pair of eyes turned to stare at McGonagall.

“What this spell does is that it makes the matter disappear and the energy transform into another form. In essence, yes. It does, indeed, kill the animal.”

“That’s horrible!” someone called from the back of the class. “What if someone cast it on human! Or a goblin! Or-”

“If someone attempted to do that, Mr Goldstein, they would find themselves unable to. As I said, every living object offers a certain amount of resistance. This is why vanishing a snail or a fly is generally less difficult than vanishing a mouse or a raven, and why there are barely any written records of anyone managing to vanish anything greater than a cat or an owl. In all of wizarding history, there was not an instance when someone was able to successfully use this spell on an intelligent being.”

“Now, Professor,” Umbridge interrupted again, drawing attention to herself once more. “Are you sure information such as this should be discussed with-”

“They asked, Mrs Umbridge, and it is a question that would need to be addressed later in the year anyway,” McGonagall said in a chilly tone.

“I am just wondering if this is something  _ children _ should-”

“These  _ children,” _ Harry could almost hear the quotation marks around the word, “are more than capable of handling the truth that by vanishing something they are killing it. Better they have it explained now than have them go through a mental breakdown later in life when they finally figure it out.”

Harry felt strangely proud at being considered ‘not child’ by his head of the house. Then again, when had he ever been a proper child?

“If you are done interrupting me, I have a class to teach.” McGonagall turned her back on the other woman and returned to her lecture. Harry watched Umbridge for a moment longer. An ugly look crossed her face as she wrote something down angrily. Then she raised her head and stared right at Harry.

He held his head higher and set his jaw. She snarled at him mutely and turned back to her notepad, jotting down something else. Suddenly Harry had the feeling McGonagall was not the only one being observed.

***

“What the hell was that?” Ron snarled the moment the door to the Transfiguration classroom slammed shut behind them. “She can’t-”

He was shushed by Hermione, who led the way down the hall. She stormed into one of the empty classrooms, attracting the attention of everyone in the corridor. Harry followed her inside, closing the door behind them. He cast a long look around the room. Empty.

“Hermione, what-”

“Not now,” she hissed in response and rummaged through her bag. Harry exchanged a look of confusion with Ron, but held his tongue. This was the most alert either of them had seen her in a while.

Her hand emerged from the bag victoriously, grasping a small cube. She placed it on a table and pulled out her wand.

“What is that?” Ron asked, giving the cube a suspicious look. Harry shrugged in response.

Hermione tapped the top of the cube with her wand. It shone gently before the white light expanded to create a dome around the three of them. It flickered and disappeared a moment later.

“What was that?” Harry asked and stepped closer to Hermione.

“A privacy spell. Well… more of an enchantment, I suppose. I took it from George,” she explained. “The dome? That was the spell. No one outside will hear a word of what we say.”

“I didn’t know they had something like this.” Ron frowned at the cube.

Hermione shrugged. “They were showing it off to Lee. I thought it would be better if I, oh, relieved them of the burden that comes from reproducing it. Now they have none.”

“I’m pretty sure they can make it anew,” Harry pointed out, peering at the cube curiously. It sounded useful. Perhaps he could convince the twins- or perhaps not.

“Not without the original plans, they won’t,” Hermione said, smug.

Harry raised an eyebrow at her. “Kenneth Towler?” he asked. The older boy was famously unhappy about sharing a room with the twins. She nodded.

“Are you going to hand it in?” Ron asked, eyeing the cube contemplatively.

Hermione shook her head. “Not until I have a new one for us, no.” Ron nodded, a hint of satisfaction behind his grin.

“Right, so… Umbridge?” Harry asked, bringing the conversation back to the original point.

Ron’s immediate response was to scowl. “You mean other than her being an absolute bitch?” Hermione glared at him for the language. “She’s after you.”

Harry sighed and leaned against the desk behind him. So he was not making that up.

“Sorry, mate,” Ron said, “but she’s here for you.”

Harry ran his hand through his hair. “Bugger.” He did not need that in his life. He did not need any of it in his life. Stupid plots could take a break at least for his OWLs year.

“There’s something else,” Hermione said quietly. Harry looked at her, feeling maybe thrice his age. “I didn’t want to bring it up before, because… well, because it’s something Parkinson said, but...” She took a deep breath. “Allegedly, Umbridge was asking the Slytherins about you.”

Harry stared at her, uncomprehending. “Why?”

Hermione drew herself up. “Parkinson claimed Umbridge swore she’d get you expelled.”

Harry blinked. The plan was not a surprise, although the bold way she was going about it was. He would just very much like to know what the woman wished to accomplish by asking Slytherins about him.

“And Parkinson said that,” Ron verified. Hermione nodded mutely. “Do you… Why do you think she was telling the truth? It’s Parkinson!” Ron shook his head. “When have you even spoken?”

“When doing rounds together. She was… put off, by how pushy Umbridge got when...” She gave Harry an apologetic glance. “When Warrington refused to press charges.”

“Was that before, or after my detention?” Harry asked absently. He knew what the answer was going to be even before Hermione said it.

“Before.”

Harry sighed and rubbed his forehead. Of course, it was. Nothing could ever be simple, could it? Not for him. Because of course, Nott had been telling the truth.

“So we believe Parkinson now?” Ron asked, disbelief in his voice. Harry looked between him and Hermione who was standing opposite of them, her hands crossed on her chest.

“She was not lying,” she stated simply. 

“Alright!” Ron threw up his hands and took several steps backwards, almost exiting the invisible privacy charm. “Deadman comes alive, insane people are suddenly sane, Slytherins are telling the truth… this year really can’t get any stranger.”

“I wouldn’t go that far,” Hermione shook her head. “Parkinson was one and it was only that one time.”

Harry’s stomach churned. But what if she wasn’t? Nott… He caught the look Ron directed at him and knew he was busted. At least Hermione didn’t seem to pick up on anything.

“So Fudge won’t give up easily,” he said, changing the topic abruptly. Ron gave him a long suspicious look, but didn’t say anything.

“No it seems not,” he agreed. “What do we do about it?”

“Harry needs to stay low for a while,” Hermione said, looking at Harry sternly. He raised his eyebrow at her. She sighed and deflated. It was much easier said than done and they all knew it.

Ron shook his head. “Let’s get some food. We can ponder this after we’ve suffered through the other Gryffindors’ company.”

***

Harry closed his eyes and reminded himself that pushing Finch-Fletchley or Hoppkins into the Black Lake was not worth the detention. He sternly told himself that using them as a meal for those giant spiders in the Forest was also not worth expulsion. But Merlin was he tempted.

“Can I hex them?” Ron asked under his breath.

“Not here,” Harry muttered, opening his eyes to stare at the blue sky above. Not a single cloud could be seen. Strange.

Hermione snorted. “I do so enjoy the fact it’s only the location you object.”

“Not as much the location as the fact we’re in class.” Harry shook his head. “Besides, you are prefects.”

“Still not above hexing them.” Ron scowled at the two offending Hufflepuffs. They turned away from them abruptly.

Harry made an amused sound. “You’re actually scaring them,” he noted, shaking his head. He was not surprised; rumour had it that Ron had turned Fleet’s nails a very unfortunate length. The rumour was correct, of course, Harry had been there.

“So are you,” Ron pointed out.

Harry plucked out a single blade of grass from under him. “Hardly.” He regarded the blade carefully before he tried whistling on it. He frowned when it made no sound.

“They are terrified ever since Black started those practical lessons,” Hermione entered the conversation, shooting Harry a judgmental look. 

“They don’t even share the class with us,” Harry objected and tried again. Still no sound. He scoffed and tossed the grass aside.

“The word still travels, mate. Black’s been praising you up and down since we started.” 

At least Harry no longer felt the need to object the praise. Hogwarts taught him that if nothing else. It felt good to be on top of the class. 

People around him suddenly gathered their things and started getting up. He blinked in surprise and glanced at Grubbly-Plank. She was speaking with a Ravenclaw girl – Sue.

“Class dismissed,” Hermione muttered in his ear as she pulled on his arm. “Come one, let’s go.”

Harry got to his feet, stuffing a piece of parchment he had been using to take notes in his bag with a frown. Had he zoned out for forty minutes? Apparently so.

He followed Ron and Hermione through the castle, tuning out their bickering about the usefulness of note-taking. He mentally reviewed his timetable, trying to figure out if he needed to do anything. 

“Follow us, our lovely song, know that we can do no wrong,” Ron recited, getting rid of the hideous tapestry. Selwyn’s portrait swung open with a password and they entered a familiar room.

Harry sat down in front of the fire, tossing his bag to the side. He took off his glasses and massaged his eyes. 

“Have you seen Madam Pomfrey?” Hermione asked, interrupting Ron mid-sentence. She was frowning at Harry, making a great impression of Mrs Weasley’s disapproving face.

“No, not yet,” Harry admitted. He had forgotten about it. Even after Sirius had reminded him in his letter. “I’ll go on Friday,” he added quickly, seeing Hermione open her mouth. Instead, she pinned him with a significant look. “Before dinner.” She huffed, but nodded.

Harry watched her take out her Runes’ textbook and settle at her claimed desk. He let out a barely audible sigh of relief while adding the appointment to his mental calendar. It already had several such plans in it and he was no closer to starting on any of them. Aside from writing to Sirius – he’d already written to Sirius.

He got to his feet unhappily and walked to the desk he had claimed as his own, snatching one of the parchments from it. His Astronomy essay. It was nowhere near the required length and he was supposed to hand it in the next day. What was so important about Jupiter’s moons anyway?

He sat down at his desk heavily and grabbed his astronomy textbook. He saw Ron doing the same at the last table, with an equal amount of enthusiasm. Harry couldn’t wait to drop the class next year.

They worked quietly, only filling the room with brief muttering when they discovered some horrible error. Like the one where Harry wrote that Europa is covered in bloody  _ mice _ . He crossed the m out before deciding the word was illegible and crossed it all out, scribbling ice above it, momentarily glad Hogwarts didn’t count legibility towards the final grade.

He was just in a process of discovering that he had misspelt Ganymede three times, in three different ways, when there was a sharp peck at the window. He turned around to look, expecting Hedwig or Pig. Instead, a rather big brown owl was sitting on the windowsill.

“Hermes?” Ron asked incredulously. “What are you doing here?” He got up and let him in. Hermes merely jumped onto the inner side of the windowsill, offering Ron a letter. Ron took it and reach to pet him, but Hermes took off immediately. Ron frowned, looking down at the envelope.

“Is it from Percy?” Hermione asked, following Ron to the fireplace. Harry got up and joined them a second later, sitting beside Ron.

“Yeah.” Ron jerked his head with a perplexed expression as he recognized his brother’s handwriting. He started reading:

_ Dear Ron, _

_ I’ve just now heard (and from no less a person than the Minister for Magic himself) that you have become a new Hogwarts prefect for the House of Gryffindor. _

_ I was most pleasantly surprised to hear such news as, I must admit, I worried you would choose to go the Fred and George route. Especially now that I have heard what mischief they are getting into this year. I must say even I’ve never expected so lowly of them as to steal another’s wand, in jest or otherwise. It is good to hear you’ve decided to stop sundering authority and take on some true responsibility. I wish to give you my congratulation, which I would be glad if you could extend to Hermione in my name. _

Ron stared at the letter numbly. “I hate that I agree with him,” he finally muttered. Harry snickered.

_ It is, however, not only my congratulations I wish to share with you, but also my advice, which is why you are not receiving this with the usual morning post. I would prefer sending this at night, but I am aware of the difficulties of a shared dorm. I am well aware of what you currently think of me – an opinion not completely undeserved, I admit, but I still hope you will find it in yourself to hear me out.  _

“Here comes the new Percy,” Ron scoffed. Harry nudged him in ribs to read on, but quietly he was preparing to hear more slander of his person.

“I don’t know, he sounds different,” Hermione shook her head.

_ I am sure you have noticed the rather blatant addition to the Hogwarts staff in form of Senior Undersecretary Umbridge this year. I cannot say much as I am bound by a discretion spell, but I feel obliged to give you some insight into what the purpose of her role is, as I am certain you’ve noticed her doing much more than assessing teachers – and let’s be honest here, some of them are in desperate need of sacking. _

_ Minister Fudge let it slip that you are still often seen associating with Harry Potter even after the events of this summer, mainly the disciplinary hearing and his claim of You-Know-Who’s return. I shan’t tell you who to spend your time with as I am certain you would not appreciate it and I think you old enough to make such decisions yourself, but I beg you to carefully evaluate your stance on several matters as they are the reason of Madam Umbridge’s presence. _

_ Firstly, I must let you know that I truly cannot say if Harry Potter is telling the truth – the minister doesn’t believe so and neither do most members of Wizengamot, but I also know very well that he is not, in fact, a known liar. I merely wish to advise you to keep your – and if you insist on not severing ties with him – also Harry Potter’s mouth closed regarding the events from the beginning of summer. I cannot say why it is important, but I beg you to be cautious of where you discuss it. _

_ Secondly, and I hope you will not burn this letter right after reading this, but I ask you to take a very close look at Albus Dumbledore and his actions. He is not the fool whose role he’s decided to play, but a very powerful and dangerous wizard. He commands his ‘Order’ in secret, taking it upon himself to do the Ministry’s job. He is not the only one who does such, but he is the only one who outright refuses to share information with us, effectively stopping us from doing our job. I know you will not agree with me in this, but I still felt I needed to tell you. Headmaster of Hogwarts or Chief Warlock, he has no business heading a militant organisation, good intentions or not. _

_ Lastly, and it is of utmost importance you understand this, do not let mother and father shape your opinions for you. It is difficult to stand up to your parents and I regret having done it in the manner I have, but I do not regret doing so in principle. They associate with a dangerous crowd – not through their intentions or doings, mind, but through their means – and I would hate to see you fall in the same pit they did. _

_ I am sorry I cannot tell you more as there are other things I would like to warn you about, but find myself unable to do so. The only thing I can say is to keep your eyes and mind open to everything, including your new Defense professor – I am told he has some more enlightening ideas. There are turbulent times ahead of us and I dearly wish you will see them through with as much ease as you’ve always done before.  _

_ Please think over what I said and again congratulations to both you and Hermione.  _

_ Your brother, _

_ Percy _

“I take that back,” Hermione said when Ron finished reading, “that is exactly the new Percy I’ve come to expect.” She frowned at the letter.

Harry stared at the elegant script with wheels turning in his head. There was a significant lack of any slander. And again, a brief hint towards Regulus Black, so similar to what Nott had said it almost froze his heart.

“You know,” he said and nudged Ron, “if you wish to- ah, how did he put it?” He glanced into the letter for the exact words. “Sever ties with me I promise I won’t be angry.”

Ron looked at him with an unreadable expression, before folding the parchment. “He’s a prick,” he claimed simply. “The biggest prick on this planet, in fact.” He laid the letter in his lap.

Hermione scoffed. “He’s just being ridiculous. Militant organisation. Dangerous crowd. Please.” She rolled her eyes and got up. “Ugh, I need to walk this off.”

Harry watched her leave the room without as much as a look back. Selwyn’s portrait shut after her.

“That was suspicious,” he noted, looking at Harry with a passive face. Harry shrugged and turned to Ron.

“Prick?” he asked, raising an eyebrow.

Ron sighed. “Hermione seemed to think so. I don’t think… I haven’t told her yet.” He gestured at the letter and then vaguely around himself.

Dumbledore, Harry understood. He hadn’t told her of his issue with the headmaster. And neither had Harry.

“So Percy is saying the toad is here to watch me and Dumbledore,” Harry said, assessing the parchment. “Me because of the summer and Dumbledore because of the Order. Because Fudge doesn’t like Dumbledore having… what? An army?”

“Sounds like it. I’m more worried about the other organisations he’s talking about.” Ron opened the letter again and read the line again. “Do you think Percy is… Part of something?”

“Ask,” Harry suggested. “If I can be asking Sirius what the fuck is wrong with his brother, you can ask your brother why the fuck is he being cryptic.”

Ron snorted. “Yeah, right.” He gazed at the letter for a long moment. “I need to think on it. In the meantime,” he turned to Harry with a frown on his face, “care to explain just what is between you and Nott?”

Harry heard Selwyn snort and shot him a disgusted look. “There is nothing between us,” he told Ron. He sighed and leaned back in the couch. Then he recounted the detention and the meeting in the Dark Tower.

***

“And now I’m… not so sure,” Harry finished with an exasperated sigh. He dropped his head back to stare at the ceiling with suffering expression.

They were quiet for a long while; Harry because nothing was making sense anymore, Ron because he was probably preparing to murder him. Harry shut his eyes. 

“I see why you wouldn’t tell us about it,” Ron conceded. “But you still should have.”

Harry laughed a humourless laugh. “For a love of God just don’t tell Hermione.”

“Don’t you think we’re already keeping enough form her?”

“More like too much,” Harry agreed. “But you know what she’s going to say.” He kicked his feet up on the table.

“The longer you wait the worse it is going to be,” Selwyn noted from his portrait and Harry had to restrain himself from rolling his eyes.

“Thanks for your input, genius. We know.” He turned his head to look at Ron, who wore a frown on his face. It made his forehead wrinkle in a way no teenager’s face should.

“What do you think about Nott?” Harry asked. He’d already told him what he’d done so he might as well get a second opinion.

Ron’s face turned tired immediately. “I don’t know,” he sighed. “First it was Malfoy, now Parkinson and Nott. And Warrington. I don’t know what to think.”

Harry snorted unhappily. “Same.” They returned to sitting in silence, both lost in their thoughts. What were they to do?

“What exactly is stopping you from just talking to them?” Selwyn asked again. Harry didn’t need to see him to know he’s raising a single eyebrow.

“They are in Slytherin,” Ron explained “We can’t exactly… we can’t just speak to them. It’s not that easy.”

“You can’t, no,” Selwyn said. Harry could almost feel his eyes burning a hole through the back of his head. “The sorting hat is never wrong.”

Harry ran a hand through his hair.  _ You could be great, you know…  _ Blasted hat. He bit down on his lip. “Isn’t it?” He paid no mind to Ron’s confused look.

“Never.” The answer left a gaping pit where Harry’s stomach should be.

“What are you talking about?” Ron demanded, but something coloured his voice, as if he already had an idea.

Harry closed his eyes as if that would make what he as about to say any better. “In the first year, before it yelled Gryffindor,” he said slowly, feeling as if poison was coating his tongue, “it suggested Slytherin.”

Ron blinked. “But it didn’t put you there.”

Harry nodded. “I-” he interrupted himself with an angry snort. “I asked it not to.”

“You asked- first of all, that should not be allowed,” Ron got out through an amused chuckle. “Second, I can’t believe you had the guts to argue with it.”

Harry grimaced. “I was scared, okay?” He hesitated. “And I really didn’t want to be in Slytherin.”

“Can’t blame you,” Ron muttered, prompting an angry scoff from Selwyn. They paid the man no mind. “Still, wow.”

“You are not angry,” Harry commented, cracking his eyes open. He stared at Ron with furrowed eyebrows. Ron hated Slytherin. Harry had almost been a Slytherin. Thus Ron should be angry. It was simple maths.

“No, I’m more…” Ron paused. “I was going to say surprised, but I’m-” he hesitated for a long second. “-not really.” 

“Come again?”

Ron sent him a small grin. “I mean- I guess what I am saying is that you were always a bit, ugh, well... Slytherin, for a lack of a better word.” He shrugged helplessly. “I really can’t explain it. And you  _ are _ a parselmouth.”

Harry rolled his eyes. Not that again. “Speaking to snakes is  _ not  _ evil,” he stressed. He had no idea why people even thought it was to begin with. Snakes were just animals. Very much not evil. Unless one were Christian, then, Harry supposed, they were.

“I never said it was.” Ron held up his hands in defence. Then he grinned widely. “But that is something a Slytherin would say.”

Harry reached over to hit him, but Ron merely swatted his hand away so he settled for scowling. “That is still not the point.”

Ron fell serious again. “No, you’re right. Nott.”

Harry shook his head. “I feel like I should… speak to him again. And this time actually listen to what he’s saying. But, at the same time, I never want to speak to him again.”

“Wait until Sirius writes back,” Ron told him after a moment of contemplation. “You asked him about family lines because Black suggested it, right? See what that is about and  _ then  _ talk to him.”

“Why wait for that?” Harry questioned.

Ron shrugged. “Just a feeling, really. Like… as if the line thing is bloody important. That kind.”

Harry screwed up his forehead for a single second, before remembering that Ron’s instincts were often correct. And it gave him time before he had to go and speak to the Slytherin.

He sank lower into the seat and rested his head against the backrest. He couldn’t quite articulate the feeling he had when thinking about the other boy. Guilt, certainly, because he had been a right arse. And perhaps a bit of… worry? He had no idea why he would worry about him, but there was something. Like a nudge from somewhere that he should pay more attention there. Every other time he had felt something like that someone had been in mortal danger and it was setting him on edge.

A sudden thought occurred to him and he groaned. “Ron?” The redhead looked at him with a raised eyebrow. “Please, don’t tell Hermione.”

Ron snorted. “Sure thing.” Then a second later he added: “She’s going to kill us when she finds out.”


	11. Turn of the tide

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You may have noticed it is now Monday, not Sunday. We had some trouble yesterday due to the weather and the power was down for most of the day, leaving me without a computer or proper access to the internet. I got exactly nothing done and it upsets me greatly.

“You said you would go on Friday!” Hermione exclaimed.

  
Harry rubbed his temples. She was right of course, but she didn’t need to shout about it. She was standing in the middle of their room, her hands on her hips; not unlike Mrs Weasley. It was a good thing Ron wasn’t there or he would laugh himself hoarse – or he’d join her in shouting.

“I will-” Harry attempted to get a word in, but Hermione shut him up with a glare.  
“No.” She grabbed her Charms textbook from her table. “We are going right now.”

  
“But what of my History essay?” Harry held up his hands; then gestured at the sheet of parchment in front of him. It was his newest desperate attempt at passing the class that year and it was going horribly. He was slowly coming to terms with not getting an OWL in it. He’d like to, even if he wasn’t planning on taking the NEWT class, but he knew a lost battle when he saw one.

  
“You will just have to do it later,” Hermione scowled, the words very much unlike her.

  
“But what if I won’t see?” Harry pointed out, slowly shuffling out of reach. “What if she does… something… and then I won’t see for a day or two? I have to write this. And tomorrow we have practical Defence.”

  
“I’m sure Black won’t mind if you sit out on one lesson,” Hermione argued. “You could cast Deflecti Pravus last year, Harry, you don’t need to practise it.”

  
“We have Potions too,” Harry claimed and grabbed his essay before Hermione could. He frowned at her.

“And we are not brewing.” Hermione shook her head. “Listen, Harry, we are going now. Even Sirius told you to!”

  
That was a low blow and they both knew it. Harry glowered at her, but folded up his essay and threw it on his table. “I am not staying overnight,” he told her.

  
“She won’t keep you overnight.” Hermione rolled her eyes and stepped through Selwin’s portrait. She peeked out from behind the gobelin before entering the hallway and made her way down. Harry followed her with an unhappy face.

  
“That’s what they always say.”

  
Hermione didn’t respond and Harry decided not to whine all way to the hospital wing. He was no first-year anymore, he could deal with the blasted white walls and light rooms. He could fight the urge to hold his breath rather than breathe in any more of the disinfectant smell. He wondered if there was something magical about that smell – maybe it helped the healing process. Or maybe it was a horrible side effect. He resolved to ask the matron.

  
The hospital wing was much closer to their room than Harry had previously realized. Barely a few minutes walk. Quite a change from having to stumble down the obtuse amount of staircases from the Gryffindor tower – he never understood why the entrance to the tower was near the very top when the dormitories took up the whole thing. Fat Lady’s portrait could very well be at some lower level. He would love for the common room to not be half the school away from everything else. Even the Ravenclaws didn’t have to walk all the way up to the seventh floor to enter their tower.

  
He picked up his pace as they enter the corridor that lead to the Hospital wing and passed Hermione. He pulled the door open and entered first. The smell of disinfectant hit him all at once and he shut his eyes briefly. “Here comes nothing,” he murmured gently and made his way forward.

  
He’d barely taken five steps when the door to the matron’s office opened and out came Madam Pomfrey with a disapproving frown plastered on her face, wand in hand. Her eyes barely landed on Harry when her expression switched to resigned.

  
“Mr Potter, as much as I enjoy your company, I would prefer if I saw less of you,” she said and bustled through the room towards him.

  
“That is perfectly mutual, Ma’am,” Harry responded with a small smile. As much as he hated the hospital wing, he had got used to Madam Pomfrey's nature – if she’s not forcing him to stay overnight.

  
“Oh, some response! You are not dying then!” Madam Pomfrey smiled at him when he grumbled. “What is the matter this time?”

  
“I get headaches a lot more often than I used to. I’m assuming it has something to do with my glasses since it’s in that area?” He glanced at Hermione.

  
She took a step forward. “I know that wrong or dated prescription can result in that and that the sight worsens if it’s not corrected.”  
“And I have not seen an optician since I was ten.”

  
Madam Pomfrey looked between them. “Ten? Why haven’t you come in those previous four years?” she asked as she waved him onto one of the beds.

  
Harry sat down cautiously, quietly thankful she was not asking why hadn’t seen an optician at all. “It’s never occurred to me?” He shrugged. Honestly, his eyes had never been an issue that bugged him before.

  
“Let’s see then. Close your eyes.” Madam Pomfrey waved her wand and Harry felt something prickle on his eyes. It was as if someone was scratching his eyelids just a bit too strong. “Take off your glasses.” Harry had no idea what she was doing, but his eyes felt strangely cool and damp.

  
“You can open them now.”

  
Harry did as told and blinked away the tears from his eyes. He raised his hand to wipe them, but Hermione shook her head. He dropped it back to his side and instead looked around. His vision was still the same blurry self.  
“Wait here,” Madam Pomfrey told him and disappeared in her office with his glasses. Harry was just glad no one else was in the Hospital wing.

  
“Just out of curiosity, how much do you see?” Hermione asked conversationally. She sat on the bed opposite of him.

  
Harry shrugged. “Enough to not stumble around like a blind fool all the time if you take them away.”

  
“Not that bad then,” she concluded.

  
Harry shook his head and ran a hand through his hair. “No, not really. Some children at primary had it worse.” He grinned briefly. “There was this one boy who couldn’t see anything unless you put it right in front of him and that was with his glasses on.” Then he scowled. “Dudley made fun of him for years.”

  
He could almost feel Hermione scowl. “I am sorry, but your cousin is horrible.”

  
Harry raised his eyebrow at her. “His idea of fun is beating up little kids,” he pointed out. “We’re well past that.”

  
“I still can’t believe those people.” Hermione stood up and paced the floor between the two beds. Harry merely watched her with a passive face. If she wanted to work herself up over his family she was welcome to do so, but Harry refused to take part in it. He had had enough of his so-called family for his entire life. Sirius’ trial couldn’t come soon enough.

  
Then again, he hadn’t grown up believing people were, generally speaking, good. With the example the Dursleys had set for him he had known people to be selfish bastards before he’d started preschool. It was true for the muggles and it was true for the wizards too. And they all had the sheer nerve to tell him that he was an attention-seeking brat. He scoffed. He had enough attention to last him a lifetime thanks to that scar. He almost laughed when he realized he used to like it. It had been his favourite thing about himself, back when he thought it was from a car crash. Even when he first found out it was a “gift” from an evil wizard, a curse mark, he still liked it. Then it started to hurt every time he as much as thought of Voldemort. That was less fun.

  
“I truly hate this place,” Harry said to distract himself from the scar. He gazed around to no avail. Everything looked like a bright blur, some more aggressive than others – those were the windows. Thankfully Hermione would never know just how much he understated his eyesight.

“And I still don’t get why,” Hermione responded, sitting down again. “Seriously, Harry, it’s just a hospital.”

  
Harry scowled and dropped on his back on the bed. “I have no idea, I just hate being here. It’s like-” he had to stop and think about what it reminds him off. “It’s like being in a cage,” he settled for in the end, elegantly avoiding having to tell Hermione about his first ten years at the Dursleys’.

  
“Cage? How so?” Hermione sounded sceptical.

  
Harry lifted one hand and stared at the darker smear where he knew it to be. The darker shade of his skin was inherited from his father – the Dursleys have complained about it often enough and he had seen photos – but he didn’t know how. Surname Potter was as English as one could get.

  
“I can’t explain it,” he shrugged. “It’s like… being in prison, but also effectively bound to a bed and people talk really slowly at you as if you are dumb.” It was also eerily similar to the lack of control over anything during his times in the cupboard. He hated it.

  
“That’s not what it feels like to be here.” Hermione opposed. “It’s safe here. And calm and quiet.” There was a silent bewilderment in her voice.

  
“Maybe for you it is.” Harry dropped his hand and stuck it under his head. Hermione might like being told what to do most of the time, but Harry enjoyed his control. He could make decisions for himself thank you very much. Even if they weren’t always the best kind of decisions.

  
“I’ve fixed your glasses,” Madam Pomfrey’s voice informed him. She approached them and handed him his glasses when he pulled himself up. He set them on his nose and blinked. He blinked and winced several times before he got accustomed to how the world around him worked. He had forgotten what getting a new prescription was like.

  
“Thank you,” he said with a smile and got to his feet. Hermione stood as well, satisfied expression on her face.

  
“You are quite welcome,” Madam Pomfrey told him with a gentle upturn of her lips. “But if I were you I would consider seeing if it can be fixed with a certified healer. If not, perhaps you could get contact lenses instead.”  
Harry’s first thought was that the Dursleys would never pay for that. He didn’t even consider the pile of money in his vault. He had no idea how much was there – perhaps he should see about that – but he wanted it to last him after Hogwarts.

  
“I don’t think that’s necessary,” he told the matron while ignoring Hermione’s roll of eyes. Only then he remembered that while Durselys wouldn’t agree, Sirius certainly would.

  
“It’s your choice,” Madam Pomfrey said neutrally. She didn’t need to express her opinion for Harry to pick up on it – she thought it necessary.

  
“We will stop taking up your time now.” He looked at Hermione who didn’t seem to be in any hurry. Suspicion sneaked its way into his mind. She seemed to be set on staying, yet she wasn’t hurt. “Shall we?” he asked anyway.

  
“No, you go ahead, I want to ask about a spell.” She gave him a sheepish grin and Harry rolled his eyes. Keeping secrets, was she? Well, he had no room to talk. He turned their back on them, feeling as if he was leaving the women to gossip in piece. He shook his head to rid himself of the thought.

  
He walked out of the Hospital wing, enjoying the different bricks in the walls being as sharp as they had presumably been in his first year. He would have to go see Madam Pomfrey again. Perhaps after the winter holiday – he did remember he had used to see optician twice a year.

  
He made it halfway down the corridor when he noticed a person walking towards him. A girl of his age, blonde, badger on her robes and a timid smile on her face – Hannah Abbot. His chest tightened as he remembered the surname.

“Hi,” he said before thought better of it. Then he decided he would’ve greeted her anyway, so there was no harm done.

  
“Hello.” Her voice carried down the corridor lightly, as bright as the look in her eyes. It was the look of someone who grew up loved and wasn’t in mortal danger every year.

  
“Are you going to the hospital wing?” Harry asked, because she was heading that way and there wasn’t much else in the corridor – there wasn’t much else in the entire wing, for that matter.

  
“Yeah, I’m not hurt though, don’t worry.” She grinned. “I’m helping Pop- Madam Pomfrey with some light injuries when they come along.” She glanced at the closed door down the hall warily. “How bad is it today?”

  
Harry glanced back. “Oh, it’s empty. Just Hermione and she’s asking about a spell or whatever.” He was rewarded by Hannah’s eyebrow rising slightly. She didn’t say anything though, so neither did Harry.

  
“Oh well, that’s good. This week was… something. The entire first-year potions’ class. Burns, boils, purple skin, you name it,” she finished with a resigned look. “P- Madam Pomfrey says it used to be better with Snape, but...” She glanced over her shoulder. “I’m glad he’s gone. I mean, of course I’m not glad he’s dead, but I wouldn’t want another year of, well-”

  
“I get it.” Harry spared her from having to find the words. “I think most of the school does. Beltaine is a bit, ah, odd,” Hannah snorted at his choice of word, “but he’s a better teacher. Or, at least, a less terrifying and more fair one.”

  
“Exactly.” Hannah nodded and laughed a forced laugh of someone who doesn’t want the awkward silence to settle.

  
They stood there for several long moments until Hannah stirred and stepped forward. “I should...” she gestured down the hall. “I mean not that I- I just-”

  
“Yeah, sure,” Harry stepped out of her way. “Of course.” He ran a hand through his hair as he felt the blush creeping up on his face. He wondered what was making that conversation so weird. Probably the fact this was the longest discussion he’s ever had with the girl.

  
“Yeah, I’ll just… I’ll just go now.” Hannah waved her hand at him, her face equally pink. She made her way down the corridor, walking stiffly.  
Harry shook his head and turned to his precious direction. Where was he going again? Back to the room? Oh, yes, he had the essay to finish. Now, what was the topic? He could stop by the library to pick up some resources. He nodded to himself and started walking.

***

Harry flipped through the book lazily and scowled to himself. The textbook had claimed Morholt to be a brother of the King of Ireland, but this book was calling him brother of the Queen of Ireland. He slammed the book shut with an exasperated sigh. Why were the wizards so inherently bad at record-keeping? Or better yet, why were complete lies allowed to be printed as factual information?

  
“Hey, Potter,” someone called at him and he sighed gently. He’d picked a spot that was almost in the restricted section, how did people keep finding him? He knew he should’ve gone back to the room.

  
He looked up. Two Hufflepuffs were approaching him from the main section of the library with intense stares. The girl had dark brown hair falling to her shoulders in big curls, framing her face nicely. She was pale and had chubby cheeks. The boy trailing after her was not looking overly thrilled. He had a round face and straight black hair that was dyed a violent shade of purple at the ends. Harry had never seen either of them before.

  
“I am Irene Denholm,” the girl said, gesturing wildly at herself. “And this is Yamazaki Katsuji. Sixth year. Hufflepuff. We just wanted to – okay I wanted to tell you and Kamazaki agrees” she sent a glare at her companion who just rolled his eyes, “- that we do believe you. About Cedric and the graveyard and the dementors and all of that.” She hadn’t taken a breath once.

  
Harry took a moment to compose himself and not gape at the older girl. “I- Thanks,” he said in the end. Several encounters like this and he still hadn’t a clue what else to tell people. She smiled at him widely.

  
“I also think the minister is a prat who needs to either leave to office or start doing his job properly,” she claimed. Then she looked at her companion. “This wouldn’t have happened in Japan, right?”

  
The boy – Yamazaki? Was that his given name or surname? – rolled his eyes at her. “We don’t have evil dark lords rising every other decade,” he noted dryly. “That seems very European, to be honest.”  
Denholm jabbed her elbow in his side. “Quiet. We like our civil wars.”

  
“Of course you do.”

  
Harry wasn’t sure if he was expected to take part in that conversation. He wouldn’t know how even if he were, so he stayed quiet and hoped they would leave soon. Instead Denholm stuck her tongue out, making Ymazaki roll his eyes. She then leaned over the table, closer to Harry. He resisted the urge to pull away. Had she never heard of personal space?

  
“Say, Potter, you don’t happen to know what that Umbridge woman is doing here?” she whispered with a smirk that set Harry on edge immediately. She was looking for trouble. The question was, for whom?  
He raised his eyebrows at her, pulling back and quickly assessing the situation. “Evaluating teachers.” He accompanied it with a gentle shrug.

  
“Nothing else?” the boy pressed. Harry wondered if he could get away with jinxing some sense into both of them. If they were trying to find out information like that, the library was too public of a place. If they were plotting a trap for him, they would be better off asking Ron.

  
“I don’t know what you are talking about.” He cocked his head to a side, giving them his best mystified look. He caught a brief disappointment on their faces before they shrugged.

  
“She has this air about her. She’s up to no good, I know it,” Denholm muttered vehemently and spun on her heels, her cloak raising the dust from the old floor. Definitely trying to gather information. Harry appreciated the effort and the thought; he was over the moon with not being the only person with common sense at school anymore, but there were much better places and time for this sort of a conversation. Maybe he was just being paranoid, but one could not hope to hold a private conversation in a castle where walls had ears.

  
He stared after them as they disappeared between the bookshelves, wheels turning in his head. He didn’t know anything about either of them. He couldn’t begin to guess at what approach they would choose if they did find something out. He just hoped they wouldn’t get themselves expelled. Somehow he didn’t think Denholm was one for subtlety. To be fair though, neither was he, most of the time. He returned to his book. The essay wasn’t going to write itself. He picked up the quill. Brother of the Queen of Ireland, was it? Now if only-

  
“Harry?” a low voice asked from the same direction Denholm had talked to him. He looked up, coming face to face with Susan Bones. His eyes were immediately drawn up to her elaborate hairdo. He wondered how one person could do something like that.

  
“Susan,” he nodded at her. She carried a bag over her shoulder and several books in her hands. They were all History books. He hesitated, then gestured at the seat across from him. She smiled.  
“Thanks,” she sat down at the bench and dumped the books on the table, while Harry moved some of his own resources. “Irene said you were here.”

  
At least Harry was proven correct – Denholm was not one for subtlety. “Did she also say how she ambushed me?” he asked in a tone that was way dryer than intended.

  
Susan laughed. “No, but I wouldn’t be surprised. I didn’t know you were friends.” She gave him a long contemplative look that fell somewhat flat – her chin was almost on the tabletop as she tried reaching into her bag without picking it up from the floor.

  
“We are not. I literally saw her first time in my life three minutes ago.” Harry ran a hand through his hair. “Besides, it’s safer to assume I’m not friends with someone.”  
“Oh,” Susan nodded, then blushed, but still shot him an inquisitive glance. “You know, we noticed a while back you don’t really seem to ah-” She made the sort of embarrassed noise girls around Privet Drive would do when talking about boys.

  
“Talk to people?” Harry finished for her, wondering why Denholm would tell her where to find him. “I noticed too. This summer.” He shrugged and looked off to the distance. “It just sort of occurred to me I don’t really know anyone besides the Weasleys and Hermione. Kind of upsetting, honestly.”

  
“Is that why you are hanging out with Neville now?” she questioned. Harry felt as if he was being interrogated. Her essentially blocking his only way out was not helping the matter.  
“Partly,” he agreed. “There’s also the matter of us being supposed to have grown up together and being godbrothers-” he cut himself off roughly. Why was he telling her any of this?  
Susan nodded. “Oh yeah, I remember. The Selwyn Lord forbid it, but never gave a reason why. Aunt Amelia said it caused quite a stir.”

  
Harry felt his mind short-circuit. Selwyn. He was supposed to have grown up in this Selwyn’s family. He knew a portrait named Remont Selwyn. Remont Selwyn was a member of the family he was supposed to have grown up with. It didn’t mean anything at all, but he felt as if he’d just discovered America.

  
He shook his head to clear it of the bafflement and focused back on Susan. She didn’t seem to have noticed anything.

  
“You were also supposed to grow up with us – well, with Hannah in the Abbot family, but Dumbledore chose differently.”

  
“Dumbledore?” Harry was torn out of his quickly festering resentment by the headmaster’s name. “How come he made such a decision?”

  
“Politics,” Susan scoffed then proceeded to shrug with almost a sneer. “No idea. I’m not much for that. Ask one of the Slytherins or Ravenclaws.”

  
Harry privately thought he’d rather not. He inhaled deeply. Two out of three people seemed to had been prohibited from taking him by someone else so he probably shouldn’t be too resentful of them. His face darkened when Dumbledore’s name appeared at the forefront of his mind again.

  
Susan sighed and slumped in her chair. “Anyway, who the hell is Morholt?” she asked, snapping him from his grim thoughts.

  
“Brother and or uncle of Iseult, the Queen or Ireland or the brother of the King of Ireland. Depends on what book you open,” he responded unhappily.

  
Susan gave him the type of look people have when they don’t quite believe what they are being told. She opened one of her books without further word. Harry was perfectly content with that, returning to his own essay. He picked up his quill and stared at the last paragraph he’d written. He pinched the bridge of his nose.

  
“Hey, mind if we sit here?” another voice said and Harry had half the mind to throw a book at the owner. Since when was it alright to disturb people in the library? Had he missed a memo?

  
He glanced up at the newcomers. This time it was two Ravenclaw girls. They were in his year, but Harry couldn’t for the life of him remember their names. Both had light brown hair held back in simple ponytails. One was probably even taller than Ron, the other shorter than Harry.

  
“Sure.” Harry made certain he didn’t sigh as he gestured at the two remaining seats.

  
“Thanks,” the taller one said, sitting down next to Harry. The ends of her hair were bleached blonde. “We didn’t want to sit with the guys.” Harry felt vaguely offended. “Lisa Turpin,” she introduced herself and Harry immediately felt like an idiot. Five years. He could feel the blood rising to his cheeks.

  
“Mandy Brocklehurst,” the other said, grinning at him impishly, “please forget I have a surname.” Harry and Susan both snorted. “Anyway, what are you two working on?”

  
“Morholt.” Harry grimaced and was treated to both Ravenclaw girls sharing the expression. Mandy even made a sort of gagging noise.

  
Lisa arched an eyebrow at his essay. “If only I could kick Binns in his balls.”

  
“I mean, it’s not like he would notice,” Mandy told her, prompting another laugh from Harry.

  
“Precisely.” Lisa glowered at her. “Anyway, you have a mistake here. Morholt was a brother of Queen of Ireland, not an uncle.”

  
“The book said uncle,” Harry defended while trying to work out how she read it so quickly.

“That was different Iseult. Both mother and daughter were named the same,” Lisa argued. “Besides, the book said King of Ireland.”

  
Harry conceded the point, but still hesitated to correct the essay. Mandy was quick to ease his mind. “Just do as she says. She’s the top of our year in History.”  
“Only because Anthony can’t be bothered to study.”

  
“Only because no one cares about history.”

  
Lisa flashed her friend a rude gesture. “You be quiet, you are top of our house in Charms and you still made a flamethrower instead of writing.”

  
“That was in first year! Let it go, will you!?” Mandy attempted to swat her arm, but hit the table instead. She let out a pained noise while Lisa grinned at her.

  
“Never.”

  
Harry idly thought he was never going to get the essay done in there. He glanced at Susan, who seemed to be ignoring them altogether.

  
“What are you two working on, then?” he asked, hoping they’d remember why they were there in the first place.

  
“Divination,” Mandy muttered with a groan at the same time as Lisa said: “Arithmancy.” Harry didn’t remember Mandy from Divination, but he barely remembered anything from that class. He fell asleep the moment the subject was mentioned. He wondered what the homework there was. He sure didn’t remember any. Peering into her essay he promptly decided he didn’t care all that much. One undelivered homework had never killed anyone anyway.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please do let me know what you thought about this chapter, I feel like something about it is throwing me off.


	12. Trying out conflicts

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just when you think things are finally settling down at Hogwarts...

“What some of you don’t seem to understand, is that O.W.L.s are not just some examinations you can study for at the last minute as many of you were used to doing for your end of term exams. I assure you, every year someone tries and fails miserably. There is no point to being one of those poor souls, so please, when I say study this-” Professor Flitwick cut himself off and stared at the back of the class, resignation written all over his features. “Mr Corner if you do not stop pretending your wand is a sword I will be forced to take points. How old are you?”

Harry didn’t bother turning around to look at Corner’s no doubt shame flushed face. He yawned widely and turned his eyes to the ceiling when the Ravenclaw head of the house returned to his spiel about the importance of studying lesson to lesson. Hermione and a few of his Ravenclaws were nodding vigorously, but most of the room appeared as apathetic as Harry felt. Had they not spent the past three weeks revising first and second-year spells, he might be paying a bit more attention.

“Next lesson we will be starting on new spells, so please, read up on them in advance.” Harry perked up a little, but privately thought that if no one had bothered for four years, no one was going to bother now. “The very first will be the Disillusionment charm. In our books that is chapter two.”

Harry glanced at Ron who had straightened up in his seat. Disillusionment charm? That might, for once, be useful. Harry resolved to read the designated chapter before the Tuesday lesson.

The bell announced the end of Friday’s last lesson – for Harry, at least – and professor Flitwick released them. He was well aware there was no point in doing anything else. That late into the afternoon even he couldn’t be bothered to prolong the lesson. Only Sprout was that type of masochist. 

They rushed out of the room, Harry waiting for Ron and Hermione to catch up. He waved goodbye to Neville, then to Lisa and Mandy when they said hi on their way. It earned him a nasty look from Corner and a snicker from Boot. Hermione raised her eyebrows at him.

“No, I do not have a crush on either of them, can you just stop?” He frowned back. Her roommates were a terrible influence.

“I didn’t say anything.” She held up her hands. “Let’s go. We can get something done today.”

Harry rolled his eyes the same time as Ron groaned: “It’s weekend, Hermione. Why do you want to work on the weekend?”

They followed her from the Charms classroom down to their private room. Selwyn didn’t even wait for the password before he swung open. So much for the not being able to let them in without the password farce, Harry thought amusedly. He followed his friends inside.

“Have you spoken to Dumbledore lately?” Hermione asked the moment the door shut, interrupting Ron’s whining, and stared at Harry. Her eyes were narrowed and she crossed her hands over her chest.

Harry, taken aback, slowly shook his head. “Not since the attack. Why?”

“Just asking,” She turned her back on him. Harry watched her with rising suspicion. Where had that sudden interest in headmaster come form?

“Have you?” he asked carefully and walked around the room to catch a glimpse of her face. Ron stood by the fireplace and watched them like a hawk, looking deep in thought.

Hermione snorted. “No. Have you noticed him at meals?” She looked between them.

Harry had to think about that for a while. Dumbledore wasn’t avoiding the meals, he would’ve noticed that. But other than him being there he hadn’t paid much attention to the head table.

“Was he doing something strange?” Ron asked and cocked his head. He rubbed his eyes and stifled a yawn. He shook his head before focusing back on Hermione.

“He…” she trailed off and shrugged helplessly. “I don’t… I don’t know. It almost looks as if he’s argued with the staff.”

Harry’s eyebrows rose to his hairline. “Sorry?” Dumbledore arguing with the staff? Over what? Besides, as a headmaster, he could just order them to do or not do something, couldn’t he? Perhaps that was why.

Hermione sighed and slumped into the armchair. “I don’t know. He never talks to anyone. He used to talk to McGonagall or Black.” She ran her hand down her face. “I don’t know it’s just strange.”

“It could be nothing.” Harry wasn’t sure what to make of it.

“Of course it could be nothing,” Hermione snorted. “It just  _ feels _ wrong if you know what I mean.”

That Harry could understand. A lot of things over the years had felt wrong for no reason. Most of them had turned out to feel that way for a very food reason. He sat down on the chair by his table and dropped his chin on the top of the backrest. He closed his eyes briefly. What could possibly make-

Something entered his mind. He jolted upright, assaulted by the intimate and urgent knowledge that Gryffindor try-outs were about to begin. Then the presence left, leaving not a single trace, except of a lingering sense of unease.

“What’s wrong?” Ron asked. His forehead was scrunched in worry as he watched him, suddenly standing by his side. When he’d moved, Harry had no idea.

Harry shook himself. “Something… something was in my head. In my mind.” He was very glad for his occlumency sessions, because he wouldn’t have noticed the intrusion before. He resolved to intensify them.

Shutting his eyes he motioned for his friends to be quiet. He systematically ignored all the thoughts flying around the forefront of his mind and delved deeper, into the dark space filled with randomly scattered memories and thoughts. Before, he’d barely been able to enter it. Soon he’d start revealing his mindscape. Hopefully it would be something defensible.

It took him a while to find the recent intrusion. It was hidden in a cluster of different memories. Leaving Hogwarts the previous year, entering it for the very first time, his first visit to the forbidden forest among the most dominant. He ignored all of them. In the middle, he found a new memory. One that wasn’t his. 

It was a single three-second scene playing on repeat – people gathering at the quidditch pitch. He knew it was from right then and that it was real, but it wasn’t his. Right next to the foreign memory was a crack. Something seemed to seep through it, much like draft. That had to be how the information got in. He poked the crack with the mental representation of his fingers.

At one moment he felt, saw and heard everything that was going on in the castle at that very moment with everything that had ever happened before. He jerked backwards, knocking himself out of the crack and, accidentally, out of his own mind. He swayed in the chair and gripped the backrest for support as his head spun and stomach lurched in several directions at once.

“Harry! Are you alright?” Hermione was by his side, watching with tight eyes. Ron held a hand on his shoulder, steadying him.

“Fine,” Harry wheezed. “I’m fine. I think.” He took a moment to collect himself so he wouldn’t throw up on either of his friends. “The castle is sentient.” He didn’t know how or why, but it was the only logical explanation for what had happened. He shook off Ron’s hand.

“How so?” Ron asked with genuine confusion colouring his voice.

“I have no bloody idea, but I just touched its mind. I don’t recommend doing that.” He breathed in deeply and finally gathered his composure. He drew himself up and explained better: “I checked my mind for the intrusion. I found a crack. I touched it.” He shrugged gently as if to indicate he had no idea what else to do. “I saw everything.”

Hermione frowned. “Interesting,” she hummed. “I knew there was enough magic to form some awareness, but not complete consciousness.”

Harry looked at her with an expression that demanded an explanation. “Well, it has a magical architect.” She gestured at Selwyn’s portrait. “So I figured that he’d have poured enough magic to create some level of sentience. I just didn’t think it had been that much magic.”

“It wasn’t,” Selwyn said. Three pairs of eyes turned to him. “The castle absorbs the leftover magic from spells. After one thousand years it must have been enough to fully develop the ward stone into consciousness.”

Harry had no idea how any of that worked, but he assumed it did. “So it… has a mind now? And can make its own decisions?”

Selwyn shrugged. “I am a portrait. I don’t know.”

Harry frowned. “I want to know more about this,” he claimed and got up. “But first, there are try-outs right now and I am already late.” He walked to the door.

“Are you sure? Why hasn’t Angelina said anything?” Ron followed him outside.

“She did, to me at least. And I’m sure she put it out on the noticeboard too.” Of course, they never spent enough time in the common room to notice anymore. It was just too much trouble for everyone involved.

Ron scoffed, obviously coming to the same conclusion and they made their way up the numerous stairs leading to the common room.

“Are you gonna try out?” Hermione asked Ron and he hesitated. He’d always wanted to play on the Gryffindor team but-

“Yeah. Might as well. Even if I’d have to play with the twins.” Harry could hear the grimace in those words. He quietly agreed, but didn’t say anything, even as he uttered the password to the Fat Lady.

“Gracing us with your presence again?” she asked with her nose turned up. Not for the first time, Harry wondered if she was somehow bound to the internal house atmosphere, as she seemed to adopt the opinion of the majority. One way or another, he didn’t dignify her with a response, instead rushing to his dorm to grab his trusty Firebolt and get out again. He tripped over a pedestal on his way – the one that stood in the way to the Fat Lady. He barely noticed the significantly emptier common room – not completely empty though, some students had about as much interest in quidditch as Hermione or less. Harry was surprised she was even going with them.

They made their way through the castle swiftly, the heavy wooden door slamming closed behind them as they rushed down to the pitch. Crowd was already gathered there. Harry wondered what try-outs would look like – he’d never seen any before.

As they neared, Harry started recognizing people. First the other players – the twins looked grim while Angelina seemed to be developing a tic in her right eye – then the people attempting to get on the team. He frowned when he noticed Seamus and it only deepened when his eyes settled on McLaggen. He’d rather play the keeper himself than play with that obnoxious prick.

“Finally,” Angelina told him when he approached. Ron joined the other contestants and Hermione had gone to sit on the tribune. “We will wait five more minutes, then we start.”

Harry nodded and walked over to his teammates. Alicia and Katie waved him a hesitant hello. The twins offered an offended ‘hullo. He rolled his eyes mentally. Their predicament was their fault and nobody else’s. He hung around them, pretending the uncertain or straight out unfriendly stares were doing nothing to him. In reality he was clenching his jaw so hard it almost hurt and his knuckles had gone white around the shaft of the broom. 

“Alright people, we will start now!” Angelina yelled, effectively shutting up most of the group, except some third-years who apparently saw no reason to stop talking. Harry glared in their direction. They hushed with a fearful squeak. He glanced around seeking the cause, but only found Ron grinning and winking at him slyly. Harry shook it off and turned back to Angelina.

“We are looking for a keeper and reserve beaters. If you’ve come to try for a different position you can leave right now-”

“Potter’s staying on team?” someone asked incredulously. Harry found them – a girl with blonde hair and acne on her forehead – a fourth-year whose name Harry didn’t know.

“I am.” He levelled her with an unimpressed stare. It would take more than a bunch of close-minded fools to stop him from playing. She gulped and walked off. Harry absently conceded Ron’s point – maybe people really were afraid of him. He wasn’t complaining. 

“Harry is the best seeker in the entire school, we are not giving him up because someone at the prophet is having a field day making stuff up. If you have a problem playing with him, you can leave too.” Angelina said with a resolute air about her. The other two girls on the team shared her sharp gaze. The twins were less impressive, but they made no move to disprove the captain’s point.

Harry watched as maybe a dozen people slowly, one by one, left the pitch. He resolved to remember every last one of them. His eyes met with Seamus’. The other boy was glaring holes in him. Harry refused to let mommy’s boy affect him and merely returned an impassive look. Seamus snarled and took a step back. Then he stormed off. Well, fine. Harry would remember that.

“Is that all? Or does anyone else have a problem?” he asked, eyes sailing over the sea of faces in front of him. Very few met his eyes, but no one else left.

‘Idiots,’ Ron mouthed at him. Harry’s lips quirked upwards.

“Right then. First, the keepers! How many of you are here to play keeper?” About a third raised their hands. “Alright, you stay, the rest, go sit until we’re done.” Angelina waved most of the people off the pitch. She stared down their housemates. “Keeper needs to have good reflexes. They need to be able to move fast in any direction, using only short bursts of speed. You will only fly one round so we can weed out those who can’t fly at all. Then we will move on straight to catching the quaffle. You will go in groups of five. Understood?”

Harry watched the potential new players trot around, making groups, and thought it would be a long day. Ron ended up in a group with two third-year twins, a seventh-year girl and fourth-year boy. He watched them fly. The girl wasn’t half bad, and Ron did as well as he usually did – even if Harry could see his hands sliding on the broom, sweaty with nerves. 

More groups flew and Harry was losing hope. In his personal opinion, they were all rather bad. But Angelina was right, they didn’t technically need to be good on rounds, they only had to be fast on reflexes. He watched as Angelina dismissed over three-quarters of students. Nevermind then, he chuckled to himself, they truly were that rubbish. Hopefully, the beaters would do better.

“Alright, let’s see how well you can catch!”

One by one they rose to the air and attempted to catch the most throws they could. The girl on Ron’s team caught three out of ten. Harry sighed deeply and wondered if it was going to set precedence. His teammates were equally unimpressed. The girls kept their faces blank, but the twins were whispering to each other and snickering at one of the younger boys’ attempts. Harry didn’t bother glaring at them – even his new-found power of intimidation wouldn’t help him with those devils.

Harry leaned on his broom and stared up at the tiny girl zipping around the hoops. “Who’s that?” he asked Angelina, ignoring the shine in her eyes.

“Victoria Frobisher,” she muttered back as the girl caught her ninth and final shot. She whistled lowly. “I want her.”

Harry nodded and watched her land. Compared to those around her, she was the shortest person he’d ever seen – and that included him in his childhood. She joined another girl, a tall blonde with curly hair, on the stands. The other girl was grinning widely and high-fived Victoria. He tore his eyes away from them. It was Ron’s turn.

“Good luck,” he muttered as he watched him take off. He hovered there for a second, before Alicia came at him. She tossed the ball through the right hoop – or at least she would if Ron hadn’t caught it. “Nice,” Harry whispered. “Nine to go.” Angelina wandered off, possibly to find someone less biased.

In the end, Ron had caught seven out of ten – second best. “Good job,” Harry told him when he landed. The handle of his broom was shining with sweat and his face was flushed, but he seemed content.

“It was decent,” he said simply and Harry grinned, hitting his shoulder.

“Give yourself some credit.” He lowered his voice. “Or look at these other cretins. Useless.”

Ron laughed and shook his head. “Who the heck was that girl before me?”

“Some fourth-year I’ve never heard of before. Angelina wants her, but,” Harry nodded at the two girls talking quietly a bit away from everyone. “Victoria approached her shortly after she landed. I don’t think she wants to play.” At least that was what he assumed from Angelina’s crestfallen expression. “Maybe a reserve at best.”

Ron nodded. “I’d never guess her to be that good, but she should get the spot. If she doesn’t want it though-” he cut himself off and nudged Harry, “-look. McLaggen’s up.”

Harry followed his eyes up to the hoops. McLaggen was hanging in the air like some sort of ungraceful two-legged spider. Katie chucked the quaffle at the right side and he jumped after it like an overgrown dog – he rather reminded Harry of Ripper.

“Fucking asshole,” Ron muttered as McLaggen proceeded to catch another one. “How much does he have?”

“Six. And the last chance,” Angelina said behind them. She leaned towards Harry. “Vicky said the training would interfere with her Charms club and other activities and she’d rather remain in the Charms club. She agreed to play reserve, however.”

Harry nodded. “Thought it would be something like that.” He watched amazed as McLaggen threw himself in the exact opposite direction the quaffle was going. He froze in the air, shaking his head, looking startled. Angelina sighed, but Harry frowned and looked around. No one had their wand out, but most were laughing. He shrugged and smirked at the landing boy.

“Alright, everybody!” Angelina called and waved her hand for people to gather around. “Thank you all for coming, I’ve got the new player now. Vicky Frobisher declined the spot, but agreed to play reserve. The spot then falls to the second-best person – Ronald Weasley.” She turned to Ron and narrowed her eyes. “You’re gonna have to train a lot, but I believe we can work with you. Any issues?”

The team shook their heads, but McLaggen just had to open his mouth. “It’s because he’s Potter’s friend, isn’t it?” he asked with loathing clear as day in his voice.

“What?” Angelina gave him such a cold stare even the twins seemed to back off slightly.

“They’re friends, so of course he gets the spot.”

“He got the spot because he was better than you,” Harry told him mildly. “We’ve all seen you mistake sides, McLaggen.” He ignored Alicia trying to shush him from behind. “I’d rather play with someone who can tell their right side from their left.”

Several people were giggling, but McLaggen set his jaw so heavily his teeth clanked. “That’s because someone cursed me, I’m sure of it. Perhaps you were feeling threatened that he might not get the spot if I score the same amount.” He walked forward fearlessly, coming face to face with Harry.

“I don’t need to curse you to see you make an idiot out of yourself,” Harry told him, staring straight in his eyes, forcing a faint smile onto his lips. He almost wanted for the boy to take out his wand.

“Harry did no such thing, I was standing with him the whole time,” Angelina threw in, glaring daggers at McLaggen. “Don’t look for excuses, Cormac; it’s unbecoming.”

He sneered. “And what of Frobisher? What if they blackmailed her into-”

“I have a Charms club,” Vicky interrupted him before Harry could curse him, “and no real interest to play. But I will play the reserve, if only to keep you away from the pitch.” She said it with enough malicious intent to make Harry laugh. McLaggen seethed for a moment, glaring at them both.

“Liars, all of you. Liars and traitors.” He stormed off. Harry watched him go, while Ron just rolled his eyes. He wondered if McLaggen was going to cause bigger trouble.

“Well, then, if that’s all done?” Angelina looked at the rest of the crowd challengingly. No one said a word. “Let’s move on to the beaters.”

Nothing interesting happened with the beaters in the air. Half got sent off because they were barely able to fly – that included several first-years who had sneaked in. Harry was on the verge of leaving, what with the amount of time innocent bystanders were almost hit by the bludgers. None of those people could aim to save their lives. Suddenly playing with the twins didn’t seem like that much of a bother.

By far the best were second-years Jimmy Peaks and Ritchie Coote, both half-bloods, both too small to play seriously yet. Harry did, however, make note of them to recommend to the next year’s captain.

On the other hand, Andrew Kirke and American Jack Sloper were both completely incompetent. Sloper managed to knock himself out with his own bat, which may have earned him a lot of laugher and mocking, but it wouldn’t be exactly helpful in the game.

The Weasley twins were getting more and more exasperated as well. “These are all horrible Angelina,” George told her after they made their way to her. She rubbed her temples.

“Not all of them. You said yourselves that Peaks and Coote-”

“They are second-years,” Fred protested.

“Harry was a first-year.”

“I didn’t have to swing a bat that weighs more than me.” Harry leaned against the stands with his shoulder, recalling the way he’d been de facto ordered to join the team “Plus, no one had a choice back then.”

“What do you suggest I do, then?” Angelina glared between the three of them, hands on her hips.

“Give them a year, then pick Peaks and Coote,” Fred said simply.

“We don’t have a year,” Katie chimed in. She sighed deeply. “They are only going to be reserves, no? Just don’t get thrown off the team and it will be fine.”

Fred and George scoffed at once. They didn’t like being under an ultimatum like that, but it was their own fault. Harry felt exactly no sympathy. He still didn’t know why they had decided to blame it on him, of all people. He couldn’t remember wronging them at any point – except that one incident with dung bombs during summer and that couldn’t possibly be the cause. No one was that petty.

“We’re decided then, yes? Peaks and-”

“SLOPER!” Ron’s yell cut through the low muttering of the team, attracting everyone’s attention. “What are you doing?”

Jack Sloper was standing on the bottom line of the stands, several meters off the ground. He had his bat raised over his head. He looked like he was about to jump and hit someone on the head with it. Kirke was standing underneath him, doing his best to hold the bludger against his chest.

“What the ever-loving hell-?” Harry muttered, taking a few steps forward to see better. Most of the team followed, except Angelina who rushed forward until she caught up with Ron.

“GO!” Sloper yelled and jumped off the stands. At the same time Kirke released the bludger. It flew straight up, hitting him in the chin and knocking his head back. He fell on his arse with a shout of pain.

Sloper hit the bludger with his bat as he was falling, sending it straight into the ground. It made a large hole, before shooting up again, just as Sloper hit the ground and stumbled forward. It slammed into his chest full-speed, then flew off.

People screamed as he toppled over, gasping for breath. In the corner of his vision, Harry saw the twins take off after the bludger, but his eyes were fixed on American. What had he been thinking?

“Someone get him to the Hospital wing!” one of the girls yelled.

“NO!” someone else opposed. “Don’t move him at all!”

Harry listened for a second longer, watching as Sloper struggled to take a breath while also trying to cough. He pulled his wand out.

“Expecto patronum,” he whispered, thinking of the first time he, Ron and Hermione sat in the common room by themselves. A great stag erupted from the tip and looked around. More gasps rang through the crowd, this time directed at him, but Harry paid them no mind. He focused on what he had seen Dumbledore do before. “Find Madam Pomfrey and bring her here,” he told Prongs. The stag inclined it’s head and ran off, vanishing after mere meters. Solved, Harry thought. Only then he took note of people openly gawking at him. He sighed inaudibly.

“I didn’t know you knew how to do that,” Ron muttered as he approached him, while the others turned their attention back to Sloper, still grovelling on the ground.

“I didn’t either.” He shrugged. “But I sure as hell will be using it now.”

Ron laughed lowly. “Just don’t overdo it. It’s rather obvious.” There was a smirk on his face that Harry would love to wipe out of there. He couldn’t think of how, however, so he simply muttered:

“It’s a literal stag, what do you want from him.”

“Not to be inconspicuous, certainly.” Harry jabbed him under his ribs, and Ron wheezed. “But hey, it seemed to have worked.” He nodded at the entrance to the pitch, where Madam Pomfrey was rushing towards them, followed by a Ravenclaw student – one of her assistants.

“What happened here!?” she exclaimed as she approached the two fallen students, immediately deciding Sloper needed her attention more. She paid no mind to the hurried explanations and started working on getting Sloper to sit on a conjured stretcher. “Take Mr Kirke,” she directed the Ravenclaw boy. 

He helped Kirke stand and threw his arm over his shoulder. “Come on, then. Don’t faint on me.”

He started walking towards the castle, while Madam Pomfrey assessed Sloper’s chest. He was finally breathing, even if only with painful grimaces and moans. Harry didn’t envy him the position – he’d been in it several times, although usually unconscious form various other injuries or simple exhaustion.

Madam Pomfrey levitated the stretcher up and directed it outside of the pitch. “Take five points for quick thinking, Mr Potter,” she told Harry. He would swear he saw her wink at him before she walked off. Some people grumbled under their breaths – earning points was now a sin for him, wasn’t it – but no one spoke up.

“You have to teach me how to cast that,” Hermione, who had joined them sometime during the chaos, murmured into his ear.

Harry nodded. “Not sure if I can do it without dementor or a boggart, but we can try. Ron?”

“Yeah, sure.” He shrugged as if he couldn’t care less, but Harry knew better. He was as excited as Hermione. “Who knows when I’ll run into one of the things.”

“Considering how careless the Ministry is? Probably on next Hogsmead weekend.” Ron snorted. “Let’s go. Before these idiots decide this was somehow our fault.” They left the Quidditch pitch in a hurry, intent on putting their things away and maybe taking a shower.

Entering the castle, they ducked into less-used corridors in an effort to avoid people going to the dinner. Harry had his broom propped against his shoulder. He secretly hoped he’d hit someone while turning around, but he also didn’t want to start a fight, so he was careful.

“Still on the team, Potter?” familiar snobby voice carried over the staircase with a mocking undertone. Harry took a deep breath. Out the corner of his eyes, he caught Hermione closing her eyes and muttering under her breath.

“Yes. Are you?” he asked and turned to face Malfoy’s grin. He was flanked by his two bodyguards, but the other Slytherins were nowhere to be seen. At the question, Malfoy’s grin only grew.

“Of course. Slytherin only takes the best, after all.”

“Funny how you have yet to win a game against us, then,” Harry couldn’t stop himself. Ron snorted, but Hermione gave him an annoyed look.

Malfoy’s grin refused to drop as he shrugged dismissively. “I’ve seen your try-outs,” he noted, changing the topic completely. Harry grimaced internally. Just what he needed. “Do you think Sloper is gonna die?” Malfoy asked lightly.

Harry rolled his eyes, but Ron snorted. “If only,” he murmured under his breath. Hermione nudged him.

“What do you want, Malfoy?” she asked and glared at him. They were gathering quite the audience. Most probably wanted to see if there would be a fight. Wanted to see the fight.

Malfoy shrugged again. “I was thinking,” he said slowly and looked straight at Harry, “if you feel alright playing with thieves.”

Harry didn’t bother fighting the incredulous expression. He wasn’t sure which surprised him more. The fact Malfoy knew he hadn’t stolen Warrington’s wand, or that he’d instigate a conversation about it. He made to answer, but realized he had nothing to say. He did mind playing with the twins and he wasn’t overly excited at the prospect of playing for Gryffindor either. But it was quidditch.

He glanced at the people around, who had given up on pretending they weren’t eavesdropping. He thought about telling Malfoy to bugger off or about calling him out on cheating in every game they’ve played, but decided against it. Instead, he smirked lightly. “I doubt they’ll be on the team by the time the season starts.” Ron looked at him like he grew a second head.

Malfoy’s grin grew. “So that’s why you’ve been looking for beaters, besides the horrible keeper.”

“OY!” Ron’s ears flamed red along with his cheeks. Harry suppressed the urge to hit the blonde Slytherin. He had not been wrong about anything. Malfoy was still the same prat. It was reassuring just as it was infuriating.

Malfoy turned to Ron and opened his mouth to say something, probably to insult him again, but he was interrupted.

“What is going on here?” a deep rumbling voice asked. Harry raised his eyes to look at Beltaine. He carried his dog – a miniature brown poodle by the name of Popcorn – in his hands. The gathered crowd parted for him as he approached. He towered over them, petting the dog with one hand.

“Nothing,” Malfoy spat on the very edge of what could pass for respectful. “We were just talking about quidditch.”

“Oh?” Beltaine looked at Harry, then at Ron who was still red in the face.

Harry shrugged and exchanged looks with Ron. They could get Malfoy in detention. “Yeah,” Ron agreed after a moment, shifting his broom in his hands. “Malfoy thinks he can play better keeper than me.”

“I never said that,” Malfoy muttered under his breath, but only the six of them heard it. Harry imagined the blonde playing a keeper and willingly throwing himself in the path of the Quaffle. He bit his cheek to stop himself from laughing.

Beltaine watched them with a clearly sceptical expression. “Run along, then.” He waved his hand gently, but Popcorn barked indignantly, unhappy with the shift of position. Beltaine rolled his eyes and muttered something about demanding women before leaving.

Ron glared at Malfoy one last time and left. The crowd parted before him in a similar manner to how they had for Beltaine. Hermione followed him, tugging at Harry’s arm as she went.

Harry glanced at Malfoy one more time, before shaking his head and following his friends. If nothing else, at least Malfoy was still the same bigoted ass. He smiled ruefully as he realized the only constants in his life were horrible people and deadly maniac out for his blood. 


	13. What runs in your blood

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A long-overdue conversation that Harry should have had way back in his first year, but alas.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Editing takes twice as long as writing and that isn´t fair. I may be developing a chronic headache from staring into my computer all day.

Harry was alone in the library; Hermione opting to stay in their room and talk to Selwyn and Ron having his duties to see to. His rounds were with Goldstein – someone who, Harry had to admit, he didn’t know a single thing about. Hermione found him an acceptable company and Ron never complained too much, so he couldn’t be too bad. Although, considering Ron’s other parters were McMillan, who he didn’t like, and Padma, who was still upset about the ball, everyone would be better company. 

Despite his stupid, unreasonable initial envy during the summer, Harry was now glad he hadn’t been chosen a prefect. He’d be a terrible one even if half of the school didn’t actively hate him.

He shook his head to draw himself out of the gloomy thoughts and focused back onto the shelf before him. There were many books on the history of Magical Britain and almost none on the history of Hogwarts itself. He eyed the entrance to the Restricted section. He wasn’t sure why anything would be there, but…

In a split-second decision he grabbed the invisibility cloak from his bag and, making sure no one was looking, he threw it over himself. He edged closer to the door and glanced over his shoulder. Madam Pince was nowhere to be seen. No one was watching the door at all.

“Alohomora,” he murmured and pulled the door open a tiny bit. He pressed himself through the small space, shutting the door with a soft click. He felt the locking charm spring back into place. He rolled his eyes. The Restricted section could be opened by a first-year spell in broad daylight.

No candles were illuminated this part of the library, but the windows let enough light in to navigate and read. He knew exactly where history section was, remembering it from his first year and their months-long search for Nicolas Flamel. He wondered what became of the man – if he was already dead. He hadn’t heard of his death, but that meant little. He could’ve died during holidays and Harry would never know. Well, maybe Hermione would have mentioned it.

He shook his head again, dragging himself back to the present and made his way to the tall bookshelves. They were near a staircase leading up on a balcony encircling the whole room. He wasn’t sure what books were up there.

His eyes sailed over the titles. The Restricted section’s history collection was rather small. He spotted a rather thick leather-bound book with the title  _ Hogwarts Charter  _ written in silver letters on it. Frown on his face, Harry pulled the book out and flipped through it. It had no right to be in modern English, being over one thousand years old, yet it was. 

It was written in four different hand-writings – one extremely curved and elaborate, two sharp and tilted and one a neat scrawl. It wasn’t messy as Harry’s own was – in fact, it was rather nice to look at – but it was difficult to decipher certain letters. He wondered which one belonged to which founder, but refused to guess.

Why was it in the restricted section, anyway? Making his decision, he tucked the book under his cloak. He ran his eyes over the shelves once more and, finding nothing on sentient castles of any kind, turned away.

He left the Restricted section the same way he had entered and was relieved to find no one noticed that either. His eyes swept over the number of students before him, working by different tables. He glanced through the open door into the study room. There. A group of Ravenclaw girls was giggling over a magazine. That wasn’t what the study hall was for, but he didn’t exactly care. Madam Pince could throw them out herself.

He strode over, careful not to bump into anyone. He hesitated for a second. One of the girls was Lisa. He hoped they were just as curious as Hermione was and carefully set the book on the bench next to Lisa’s bag. He backed away, tempted to stay and watch, but it wasn’t a good idea to be invisible in a crowded room.

He made his way outside cautiously and ducked into the first door he came across. It was empty, thankfully, and he dragged the hood from his head before shrugging the whole cloak off. He folded it, waiting for his body to cool down. He didn’t know if it was the material or the magic at work, but the cloak could get hot.

He left the room and decided to join Hermione again. If she was done, she could tell him about whatever it was that had been bugging her. If not, well, he supposed the essay for Black wasn’t going to write itself.

Passing barely a few steps he heard commotion from farther down the corridor. He briefly considered his options. Given how strange noises usually turned out at Hogwarts, he was severely tempted to just walk away.

A voice cut through the silence with a roar: “ENOUGH! GET AWAY FROM HIM!” 

Harry stiffened. That was Ron. Loud racket followed immediately afterwards, joined by a startled yell and laughter. Harry set his jaw, following the sounds. He wondered how it was that he hadn’t heard anything just moments before.

He quickly dug up the invisibility cloak from his bag again and wrapped himself in it. The door to the classroom were open, so he peeked in. His blood ran cold in his veins at the sight. Three sixth-years were standing at the far end of the room, behind a small boy, fiddling with their wands. There was blood on the boy’s forehead and a trickle of it slowly ran down his cheek and chin. The boy was directly between the older students and Ron, who was scowling impressively. Where was Goldstein?

“Come on, Weasley, it’s just a little snake,” McLagge claimed, holding up one of his hands in a doomed attempt to console him. Harry forced himself to stop fingering his wand.

Rather he tried to identify McLaggen’s companions. He had never spoken to them, but he was pretty sure they were both Hufflepuffs. He sneered at them from under his cloak and turned his attention to the boy. He couldn’t be more than eleven and even that was pushing it. From where he was standing the wound on his head didn’t look serious, but he knew better than to underestimate head injuries. They had an unpleasant tendency to go from bad to worse in a matter of seconds.

He tuned out Ron’s strangely eloquent explanation of how the boy being Slytherin didn’t make bullying him alright. He spared a brief thought to the strangeness of it all.

“So you are a traitor now too, eh, Weasley?” McLaggen frowned, not even bothering to cover the disdain in his voice. “I should’ve known. Always hanging out around that lunatic. He shouldn’t be in our house at all.”

Harry bit his tongue, restraining the urge to scream a nasty hex in his direction and entered the room. McLaggen was a prime example of everything that was wrong with Gryffindor as far as Harry was concerned. And Merlin, was he the perfect embodiment of a person he’d just love to stick to the side of a tower with permanent sticking charm and mouth glued shut.

“Shut up, Cormac,” Ron scowled, his ears burning red. Not the most mature response, but Harry didn’t blame him. “That will be a detention for all of you.” He took a moment to think it over, before looking at the boy, then back up. “Month should do it, what do you say? With Filch, I should say. And a meeting with the Head of your Houses.” 

They snarled at him, looking murderous. They exchanged looks just as Ron opened his mouth again. “And it will be twenty points from each of you.”

“Melofors,” one of the Hufflepuffs growled, slashing his wand through the air.

Harry jumped forward and pulled the boy out of the way just as Ron conjured a shield. The boy squeaked in panic, but no one seemed to notice. Ron had already disarmed the attacker and was engaged in a fight with McLaggen and the other Hufflepuff.

“Expelliarmus,” Harry muttered and hit McLaggen from the flank. His wand clattered on the floor as the older boy stared at his hand in disbelief. The Slytherin boy tried to wrench himself from the invisible grip on his upper arm and Harry let him. Ron had disarmed the last without any trouble – obviously duelling wasn’t his strong side.

“I’ll be keeping these,” Ron informed them. “You can collect them from McGonagall and Sprout after dinner. Now get out.”

“You’ll regret this, Weasley,” the aggressive Hufflepuff promised with a bitter and nasty grimace.

Ron was silent until they reached the door. Then he mused aloud: “No, I don’t think I will.” None of them turned, but McLaggen slammed the door shut.

Ron sighed and pocketed the three wands. “How long have you been here?” he asked, looking nowhere in particular.

“Since the ‘Get away from him’ bit,” Harry told him, pulling the invisibility cloak off. The Slytherin yelped, stumbling away. Harry winked at him with a decisively cocky grin. He would probably carry the tale to the rest of his house, but Harry didn’t mind.

“How come I haven’t heard anything before that?” Harry asked. “I was standing on that corridor for a while.” Not exactly true, but close enough. He gestured out of the room with a frown.

“Silencing ward. I felt it break when the idiot tried to cast a spell while holding it up.” Ron turned to the Slytherin boy. “We should get you to the Hospital wing.” He frowned at the head injury. The blood was now dried and no more seemed to be coming out, but still.

“No.” The boy took a defensive step back, towards the door. He spoke clearly, unlike the Gryffindor first-years who all tended to mumble when speaking to the professors or the older students. “I’ll just go to the common room. That’s where I was headed anyway.”

Ron’s scowl deepened. “Are you sure?” 

The boy nodded and moved closer to the exit. Ron made no move to follow him. Neither did Harry, but he did ask: “What’s your name?”

The boy froze. “Why?”

Harry shrugged doing his best to appear unconcerned. “McGonagall is going to ask. This isn’t the first time McLaggen has been caught.” Neither of those statements were false.

“Graham Pritchard.” The boy disappeared into the corridor.

Harry exchanged a look with Ron. “I feel like I’ve heard that name?” he asked. Ron shrugged.

“Same year as Dennis, I think. I’d much rather know why he didn’t want to go to theHospital wing.”

Harry shrugged. If the boy had as much luck as Harry, then he had a pretty good idea. “Do you think we should tell someone?”

Ron took a long breath, contemplating the idea for a while. “I don’t know.” He breathed out a frustrated huff. “And the only answer I can think of is: let’s find Malfoy and you have no idea how much that hurts.”

Harry grimaced. “Yeah, no, let’s not do that. Tell you what, if we run into any other Slytherin we will let them know to check up on him.”

Ron nodded and moved to the door. Then he halted and glanced at Harry with a wicked grin. “Or, you could go tell Black.”

Harry screwed his forehead. “Me? Why me?”

“You wanted to speak to him anyway.” Ron led the way into the hallway.

“Not until I get an answer from Sirius,” Harry pointed out. He had a vague feeling the resistance was futile, but he wasn’t about to just agree. This was a horrible idea.

Ron merely shrugged. “Well, that’s just too bad, innit?” He had the audacity to smirk at him.

Harry scowled in return. Then he got an idea. He stopped suddenly and gave Ron a piercing look, his lips slightly upturned. “Alright,” he agreed, “but only if you write to Percy.”

“What?” Ron’s shit-eating grin fell from his face. Harry could almost see the wheels turning in his head, looking for a way to back out.

“You heard me,” Harry insisted, because he’d be damned if Ron was the only one who got to mess with his friends’ plans. “Write to Percy and I’ll go see Black. Right now.”

Ron took a deep breath and glared at him – either attempting to set him on fire or drill a hole in his head. “You- You are such a Slytherin!” he spat, uncaring that they were in the halls and not the safety of their room. “Fine! I’ll do it.”

Harry grinned and narrowly avoided being shoved into a wall.

“Prat,” Ron told him and continued down the hallway. He stopped when he noticed Harry wasn’t following him.

“Now that you’ve decided you want to start speaking with your brother again,” Harry said from a safe distance. “I shall just leave you to it.” He turned on his heel and made his way to the opposite direction, walking fast.

“You’d better be going to see Black, you prick!” Ron yelled after him and stumped on his way. Harry counted himself lucky he wasn’t hexed.

***

The dungeons were always quiet, Harry noticed. No matter the time he entered the place, there was always this almost sinister eerie quiet, underlined by the perpetual darkness. His steps echoed around three corners before they finally faded away and his breath rang loud in his ears, accompanied by blood rushing through his veins. Or perhaps it were rats, scurrying in the darkness, or bats flying above. Maybe even the castle itself, sighing under the weight placed upon it. Or the ground groaning, moaning the heaviness of the structure. Strange the sounds one could hear when there was nothing to overshadow them.

Harry shuddered as cold draft whistled through the hallway. Draft was always present in the old castle, especially the ancient parts of it, but nowhere was it quite as disconcerting as in the dungeons. In the towers, the strong biting wind howled through the rooms, robes billowing, pushing at people’s backs and messing their hair. In lower parts, it was a breeze, chilly or warm, that played with hair and turned pages randomly. In the dungeons it was always cold, decorating cheeks with a blush, leaving cool hands without so much as a by-your-leave. Sometimes you wouldn’t even notice as you walked, only to come to higher levels and be punched in a gut with a heatwave of summer. Dungeons were heaven in summer, there was no doubt about that. During winter, they were unforgiving.

And just like that, Harry was brought back to his original problem – one of them at any rate. He had exactly no idea what to tell Black. What to ask. He didn’t know what the correct questions were or how to make sense of the answers he felt he didn’t even want to have. But he was curious. He needed those answers if only to stop himself from wondering about them all the time. His curiosity would be his doom one day, just like it had been so many times before. One would think he’d learn.

He took a deep breath and looked at the door in front of him. Solid, dark, wooden, just like most other doors in the castle. Yet they carried a certain feeling with them. The same feeling that had been so strongly woven into Snape’s door before. Harry wondered if all heads of houses had a distinct feeling to them. McGonagall’s office certainly reminded him of the heat of flared tempers so common in the Gryffindor common room.

He shook his head and knocked on the door, steeling his nerves. He was willingly going to see the Slytherin head of the house. Two months ago he would have been disgusted with himself. Then again, two months ago he would be seeing Snape, not his godfather’s brother.

The invitation to enter was not nearly as muffled as it should have been given the thickness of the door, but Harry wrote it off as magic and didn’t concern himself. He pushed the door open.

Black’s office was nothing like Snape’s. There was an enchanted window directly behind the massive oak table, looking onto the road down to the front gate. Bookshelves filled with tomes, scrolls and files, some in languages Harry had no hope of deciphering, lined the walls. A couch was pressed between them. In front of the table there were three leather chairs – more like armchairs. And behind the table, sitting in a chair with high backrest, was the head of the Slytherin house himself.

At that moment Harry finally fully comprehended what sort of a man Regulus Black was. Gone was the friendly Defence professor who had paired him with Parkinson just to spite him and praised him in lessons for his skill. In his place now the man who sat in the Great hall for meals, commanding respect in a way no other professor did. His face was passive, but his eyes, piercing right into the soul, sparkled with certain mischief that even the formal setting couldn’t – or wouldn’t – dim. 

For a moment he thought it was not dissimilar to how Dumbledore let himself be perceived, then realized it was, in fact, very different. Dumbledore let himself be seen old and foolish, maybe even senile at times. As someone who was not a threat. Black, however... Every part of him screamed threat and he seemed to be embracing it to his very core.

“Mr Potter. Is there something I can do for you?” If Black was at all surprised by his presence he didn’t let it on. He placed his quill onto the table, joining his hands.

Harry took a calming breath and forced himself to speak evenly. He had no reason to be nervous. This man liked him, for Merlin’s sake!

“It’s about Graham Pritchard. He had a wound on his forehead and refused to go the Hospital wing.” Even Harry was surprised by how collected and level he sounded.

“Wound?” The simple question sent shivers down Harry’s spine. He was suddenly very glad he was not in habit of picking on Slytherin students. Snape might have shown little concern for anyone, but now there was a dangerous gleam in Black’s gaze and Harry wouldn’t want to be at the receiving end of that punishment.

“Cormac McLaggen and two Hufflepuffs. I don’t know their names.” Harry felt a flicker of satisfaction at the irritated look that flashed on Black’s face. “Ron’s gone to inform professors McGonagall and Sprout,” he added, just in case Black wondered why it wasn’t a prefect informing him. Although it should be a prefect. Goldstein was supposed to be there with Ron. He wondered why he hadn’t.

Black nodded. “I will see to it that Mr Pitchard does visit the Hospital wing. Thank you for informing me.” Harry swallowed the  _ no problem _ that forced itself on his tongue. “Was there something else?”

Harry’s palms were sweaty, the tips of his fingers ice-cold. His heart hammered in his chest as if trying to escape. He wanted to breach the topic, but the words were wiped from his mind. “No,” he heard himself say. “No, that’s all.” He made no move to leave the room, even as his words caught up with him.

Black sighed just as Harry finally realized he should probably just leave. “Sit, Mr Potter.” He waved at the chairs in front of this table. Harry thought about protesting, then decided it would probably be pointless anyway. He sat down. The chairs were exactly as comfortable as they seemed.

“Have you written to Sirius?” Black asked right off the bat, surprising Harry. He had thought bluntness to be Gryffindor characteristic.

“I have.” Harry ran a hand through his hair. “He hasn’t written back, yet.” Sirius always took his time to write back. Harry, though, didn’t have any room to talk. He had barely kept in touch with his friends during the summers after their second year.

Black nodded absently. “No, I suppose he would first need to research it. He was never one for politics.” He made a pause there than added: “Not many people are.”

Harry didn’t respond to it, but privately thought only Malfoy and the likes of him would find any joy in endless repeating of empty promises.

“What do you know about family lines?” Black asked, staring straight at him all of a sudden. Harry felt like he was being interrogated.

“Nothing,” he answered honestly and pushed down the urge to fidget. He did look down on the table. He felt a blush creep up his cheeks when Black sighed gently.

“Very well.” There was a moment of silence as the man collected his thoughts. “In our world,” he started slowly, “your family name indicates more than who your parents are. It tells you what to expect of your magic. McGonagall family, for example, is known for powerful flashy magic that goes well together with transfiguration and a wide array of offensive spells. Black family is, on the other hand, recognized for strong defensive magic and warding. Potter family, I believe, is famous for the sheer amount of magic they have access to at any given time, but also for issues with delicate spells.”

Harry gave him an incredulous look. “Magic is bound to a family name,” he stated blandly.

Black laughed, but there was no mocking in the sound. “Better way to put it would be to say that magic is hereditary. If your father had an affinity to enchanting, there’s a high chance you will too. There is a reason Ollivanders have been making wands for centuries.”

“What of muggle-borns? They don’t have anywhere to inherit their magic form.”

Black leaned back, relaxing in his chair. The amused smile was still playing on his lips. “Magic is hereditary, until it’s not,” he amended his statement. “The first wizards were all muggle-borns – something our country seems very keen on forgetting. Muggle-borns are like those first wizards – first of their line.”

“So... If I have children,” Harry said slowly, “they will be good in the same things I am?” It was like claiming Dudley would be a company director just because Vernon was one – stupid and, frankly, a bit terrifying.

“Or their mother.” Black nodded. “Likely, but it’s not a rule. Take your friend Mr Weasley. His mother – born a Prewett – is talented in charms and potions. His father – a Weasley – has an affinity for charms and counter-jinxes. Mr Weasley himself, however, doesn’t seem to like charms overly much. I hear he does a lot better with transfiguration, much like his paternal great grandmother did. And, of course, he does remarkably well with defensive spells, no doubt a Weasley family line influence.”

“Family you are born to defines your magical abilities, even if they sometimes skip a generation,” Harry summarized, feeling as if he somehow appeared in a secondary school biology class.

Black inclined his head. “One or two. Sometimes twenty. The affinities can seem extremely random without proper research.” He paused before grinning slightly and Harry felt a bit more at ease. “Sometimes the magic itself skips a generation or twenty.”

“Squibs,” Harry said. 

Black inclined his head. “Now, your family line defines your magic, so it naturally also defines whether you are a light or a dark wizard. There are famously light lines – the Weasleys, Dumbledores, Bulstordes, – famously dark lines – the Malfoys, Blacks, Corners, - and mixed lines – lines where dark and light wizards are born seemingly randomly. Prewett line is one such. Or Peverell, Greengrass, Bones, to name a few.”

Harry screwed up his forehead in confusion. “How can it be random?”

Black raised his eyebrow. “Because the families had enough light and dark members for affinity to manifest either way. Malfoy family has never in recorded history had a light member. Dumbledore line has likewise never had a dark member. Others did, but only rarely.”

Harry didn’t need to think about it for long, before he figured it made sense. Somewhat. As much as anything in wizarding world did, anyway. “What about the Potter family?” he asked, because that was why he was there after all. To lay rest to that nagging feeling that nothing could ever be simple for him.

Black gave him a small, almost pitying smile that sank Harry’s hopes faster than the iceberg had sunk Titanic. “I only know the general gist. For more information, you would need to consult Potter chronicles. Potter line is a branch of a different family.” Harry leaned forward in his seat subconsciously. “Specifically, a branch of the Peverell family.”

He leaned back with a resigned sigh. “Damn it,” he muttered under his breath. Black gave him an amused smile. If nothing else, at least he could console himself with the fact that it’s a mixed line, not a dark one. He hesitated: “Can’t a branch be-” he cut himself off “-no nevermind. It can’t.”

“It can,” Black corrected. “But only the other way around.” He tore down the hope as quickly as he had built it. “If it makes you feel any better, there are other branches of that family.”

Harry blinked at him, uncomprehending. “Should it?”

Black shrugged. “Perhaps not,” he allowed. Then he seemed to think better of it. “Well, given what the branches are, no, it wouldn’t.”

“What are the branches?” Harry asked despite knowing better. He didn’t think he needed to know. Black seemed to think he didn’t. But he  _ wanted _ to know. The damned curiosity of his.

“You should look that up yourself,” Black told him. “And while you are at it, read The Tale of Three Brothers by Beedle the Bard. I think you will find more consolidation in that.”

“It sounds like a fairytale,” Harry noted dryly. 

Black chuckled. “It is.” Harry almost choked. He was sending him to read a children’s tale? Whatever for? He resolved to just ask Ron about it.

They were interrupted by a knock on the door. Black’s eyebrow raised slightly as he looked at the door. Harry got to his feet. “I’ll ah… I’ll just go. Thank you, professor.”

“Anytime.” Black waved his hand dismissively. “Send whoever it is in, will you?”

“Sure,” Harry agreed easily, before realizing he’d just agreed to most likely speak to a Slytherin student and the colour drained from his face. If Black’s smirk was anything to go by he was well aware of his internal struggle.

“Give them a chance,” he told him quietly, but there was something stern and unyielding in the undertone. Harry looked away, remembering his disastrous attempt. He had no way to prove Nott was being sincere. It was a question of trust. Could he afford such trust? Was he willing to exercise it?

“I’ll try,” he said in the end, resolving to speak to Nott again, somehow. Perhaps he could ask Neville how to go about it. He seemed rather well versed in such matters. And he’d probably known Nott for years even before Hogwarts.

“That’s all I can ask for.”

Harry inclined his head and left the room. He didn’t bother closing the door, but stopped dead in his tracks, coming face to face with Cassius Warrington. His surprise had nothing on the absolute bewilderment that appeared on Warrington’s face for a brief moment. 

“Uhh- you can go in,” Harry said, not waiting for his tongue to catch up with his brain and tie into a knot, “he’s waiting for you.” He didn’t wait for a response and hurried down the hall, out of the dungeons. He felt eyes on his back as he ducked into a secret passage that would take him straight up to the second floor. There was no doubt in his mind that by the end of the day the entire school would know he had gone to see the Slytherin head.

Emerging in an empty corridor he took a deep breath. Mixed line. Peverell line. Who would be able to tell him more about it? Ron? Probably not. For all he was a pureblood he had most likely never heard of anything like it. Certainly not enough to answer Harry’s questions. Hermione was out of question too. She could research it for him, yes, but he didn’t want to bother her with it. That was where his list of close friends ended, unfortunately.

The answer came to him like a bolt out of the blue. Neville. His godbrother grew up with all this knowledge forced onto him. If anyone could offer advice and explanation, it would be him. He thanked heavens for the idea and made his way onto the grounds. He was sure Neville would be by the greenhouses.

Harry held little love for plants, especially plants that attempted to kill him. The Herbology class was kind of like a herbarium of plants that could kill him and would be very happy to do so. There were so many ways they could go about it too. He’d honestly rather not study plants.

He peered into different greenhouses, trying to spot the familiar figure of his godbrother, or at least the sand-coloured hair. He failed, but he did find Nandini. She would know where to look for Neville. He entered the greenhouse properly and cast a vary look at the surrounding plants. None of them were dangerous unless ingested. Good.

“Hello,” he greeted from the door-frame. Nandini jumped and turned around, garden knife clutched in her hand. She relaxed at the sight of him.

“Harry. Hi.” She placed the knife down on the table and drew her hand in a glove over her forehead. It left a muddy trail there.

“Sorry, I didn’t mean to startle you,” Harry apologized. He pointed to his forehead. “You have some dirt here. And here.” He pointed at the bottom of his chin. 

She rubbed at her face, then stopped and glared at the glove. “Well, now I have more dirt there.” She shrugged. “It will come off eventually. What are you doing here?”

“Looking for Neville, actually. You wouldn’t happen to know where he is?” He looked around, making sure his godbrother was not around.

“Greenhouse four. He’s tending to knotgrass. There seems to be some disease affecting it.” She waved her hand in a direction of said greenhouse.

“Oh. Thanks.” She merely hummed in response and turned back to whatever she was doing to the plants in front of her. Harry took it as his cue to leave.

Greenhouse four was not that bad of a place. Nothing overly dangerous resided there – at least nothing that actively tried to murder him. At worst he’d cut himself or stuck his hand in the goo that covered the soil of some of the plants. The smell was atrocious.

Finding Neville proved less difficult once he knew which building to enter. His godbrother was slumped over rows of short green twigs with small hard leaves. Harry saw nothing wrong with the knotgrass, but there was a reason he wasn’t the one tending to it.

He coughed to attract Neville’s attention. “Hey.”

Neville looked up at him with a confused expression. “Harry,” he cocked his head to a side, “what are you doing here?”

“Looking for you. Do you have a moment?” He glanced at the plants in the pots. Neville looked down at them too.

“I mean, sure. This is just anthracnose.”

Harry had no idea what anthracnose was, but it sounded like a disease. It probably was a disease, come to think of it. He entered the greenhouse properly and leaned against one of the workbenches. Neville turned back to the knotgrass. 

Harry watched him pick at the twigs for a while, throwing some of the leaves into a bucket on the ground. They all looked to be somewhat brown or yellow.

“So, what do you need?” Neville asked without as much as glancing at him. Harry sighed and ran a hand through his hair.

“Potter family line,” he said. “What do you know about it?”

That earned him a distracted look while Neville scanned his memory. “Not much. Famous for powerful magic. Offensive, defensive and transfiguration.” He paused for a long second. “Oh, and it’s only a branch of Peverell family.”

Harry nodded. Black had told him the same thing. “Peverell family?” he asked.

Neville hummed. “One of the eight Most Ancient and Most Noble families,” he elaborated. “Said to have defeated Death itself.”

Harry felt unnatural chill run down his spine and decided not to ask about it. Instead, he said: “Eight what?”

Neville looked up at him with a blank look before understanding appeared. “You wouldn’t know,” he muttered. Louder he said: “Families sitting at Wizengamot are divided into five tiers. The most powerful are the Most Ancient and Most Noble families. There is only eight of them. Their lords hold the title of a Marquise.”

“As in actual nobility?” Harry asked, incredulous. “Wizards have that? What about the Statute of Secrecy?”

Neville shrugged. “Magical titles are tied to the land so we couldn’t abolish them. Fortunately.” He scowled. “Merlin knows the ministry tried.” He gave Harry an amused look. “I am going to take a wild guess and say you didn’t know you were one too.”

Harry almost choked on air. “I am what?”

“Nobility. Earl to be exact. Like Sirius Black is. Or my father. Lucius Malfoy. Dumbledore. Me, one day.”

“I am an earl?” Harry’s mind was still stuck at the information, not processing the names Neville spouted at him.

Neville nodded. “Potter branch has a title of its own. It’s a Most Ancient and Noble family. Just one rank bellow the Peverell family.”

“I am a noble,” Harry repeated. Neville frowned at him. 

“This should be Sirius explaining it, not me,” he murmured.

Harry shook his head. “I can’t be a peer. No way.” He had not been expecting such information and in all honesty, now that he had it he wished he didn’t. “Does it mean I have to sit on Wizengamot?”

“Eventually,” Neville nodded. “It’s not truly expected until you at least get your OWLs. After graduation is the most common.”

Harry felt like he might start hyperventilating. “Why am I only learning of this now?” he demanded, grabbing the edge of the benchwork for more support.

Neville shrugged. “Unfortunate coincidence?” he suggested.

Harry gave him a look that said exactly what he thought of the idea. “More like someone just didn’t want me to know. But why?” He hesitated. Why wasn’t really a question at all when he thought better about it. Keeping political opponents out of parliament sounded exactly like the type of thing he’d come to expect from the wizarding world. But why hadn’t Dumbledore told him anything either? He could help! Unless the headmaster didn’t want him to know.

“You should speak with your godfather. Or my mum,” Neville advised him. “I am really not the best person to explain this.”

Harry shook his head. “And how am I going to meet them? I can’t just leave the school.”

“Hogsmeade weekend? Or you could speak to Professor Black.”

Harry grimaced and ran a hand through his hair. “I already spoke to Black,” he muttered. “Not about Wizengamot though.”

“There you go then.”

“No,” Harry shook his head. “I will speak to Sirius…” he trailed off. He couldn’t. Not until his name was cleared. And this didn’t strike him as a topic that should be discussed via letters. “Can I speak to your father about this? You said he was an earl too.”

Neville picked up his wand and turned to the plants. “Sure. I’ll write to him-”

“No,” Harry interrupted before he fully realized what he was saying. “I’ll write myself.” He felt the urge to slam his head into a wall moment later. Way to shoot himself in a leg.

Neville gave him a contemplative look before shrugging carelessly. “As you wish. Just remember that we are a light line and you are mixed.”

“Is there a difference?” Harry asked. He shook his head at the blank look Neville gave him. “Don’t even bother. That was a stupid question.”

Neville nodded briefly with the same unreadable expression.

Harry pushed himself off the workbench. “I’ll just go.”

“I’m not throwing you out,” Neville said quickly when he realized he’d been staring at Harry silently for longer than necessary. A blush crept up his cheeks. 

Harry smiled and waved his hand dismissively. “No. You’re not.” His smile widened at Neville’s flabbergasted look. He left the greenhouse without further word and made his way inside, deep in thought.


	14. True invisibility

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> If only the boys would play nice more often.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> WARNING: for some dubious Latin in this chapter. I did my best, but as always, feel free to yell at me about it - politely.

October rolled around bringing an exceptionally foul weather. Rain drummed on the roofs and walls of the castle in a loud rhythmical beat. A strong gust of wind smashed the raindrops straight into the windows of the Gryffindor tower’s boy’s dorm.

Harry opened his eyes and blinked blearily at the scarlet drapery around his bed. His mind was filled with a long corridor and a door at the end of it. What was behind that door? He always felt compelled to open it in the dream, but it never sounded like a good idea after waking up.

He felt the sleepiness slowly leaving his body and burrowed deeper into the blanket. There was no point. The pleasant warmth shifted gradually into too hot. Alertness slipped into his mind like an unwelcome guest. He huffed and shuffled around, pushing the blanket off. Shivering, he tangled his legs back into it while rolling onto his side. He reached out and felt around for his glasses. He squinted as he tried to make sense of the clock on his end table.

Half-past three in the morning. Great. He groaned softly and turned back onto his back. He stared up at the darkness surrounding him. Another strong gust of wind threw one of the windows they’d left open against the wall. He forced himself out of the bed and stumbled through the dark room to close it.

He leaned his forehead against the cool window and stared out. He couldn’t even see the moon through the thick clouds, he couldn’t see anything. Not a single light in the entire castle.

He walked back to his bed, pulling some socks on. In the dark, he fished around for some spare clothing and grabbed his invisibility cloak and the Marauders Map. He left the room and crept down the stairs.

The common room was empty, except for one lone cat lounging above the fireplace. He paid it no mind and huddled in the cloak, counting on it to keep him warm. He bumped into a pedestal on his way to the door and swore mentally. 

The Fat Lady muttered some decisively unflattering things at whoever was sneaking out, but Harry had heard it all before. He ignored her in favour of checking the map. He should’ve done that in the common room.

No one was roaming the halls at that hour, not even Filch. Except… There was a single dot at the Owlery. Squinting at the writing in the dark, Harry made out the name of a Slytherin student – Nott. What was Nott doing at the owlery in the middle of the night? Who was he sending a letter to? He hesitated a moment before setting off. He’d had no plan anyway.

Halfway through Harry realized this was probably the last way he should go about speaking with Nott almost a month after the fiasco in the Dark Tower. He should’ve spoken to Neville. There was an unfinished letter to Frank in their hidden room – a fourth or fifth attempt at it. He should’ve just asked. It was a moot point.

He pushed the front door to the castle open and the rain slapped him in his face. He shivered at the cool water rolling down his collar. The road was muddy and some of it caught at the bottom of the cloak. Harry hesitated again in front of the Owlery. He pulled the invisibility cloak off himself and bundled it up. Taking out his wand he transported it back to his bag, hoping to Merlin he managed to hit his mark. Then he twirled the wand around himself, muttering the Disillusionment charm’s incantation. He raised his hand to check if he truly managed, congratulated himself shortly and entered the Owlery.

The familiar stench of many owls hit him strongly. It mixed with the sour smell of rotting mice and bird food gone bad. Harry wrinkled his nose and closed the door behind him. He hid the Marauders Map after checking that Nott was still on the floor above him. He slowly made his way up the stairs.

Nott was leaning against the windowsill, scribbling something on a crumpled piece of parchment with a quill and an invisible ink. Harry frowned and considered reading over his shoulder. Right then an indistinct brown barn owl flew in and landed next to the inkwell, almost knocking it over. Nott reached out and petted the animal, before rolling up the parchment. He tied it into a small roll with a white string and handed it to the owl.

“Do not let anyone see you,” he whispered to the owl. It offered a single deep hoot in response before it took off.

Harry’s eyes narrowed in suspicion, but he felt his pseudo-promise to Black weight down on his conscience.  _ Give them a chance _ . Alright, fine. He would. That’s what he was there for anyway. He dispelled the Disillusionment charm and cleared his throat.

Nott startled so badly he almost fell over. His wand was in his hand a split second later, sending a spell zooming towards Harry. It was a testament to Black’s training that Harry raised a shield fast enough to catch the stunner before it hit him. He held up his hands, one palm open, one holding his wand loosely.

“What the fuck are you doing here?” Nott demanded. His entire body was tense and he still had to let go of his wand. He was glaring holes into Harry and, somehow, Harry thought he might be justified.

“I… wanted to speak to you,” he settled for in the end and was immediately reminded of their first proper meeting. With their roles reversed, he wondered if Nott had had any more of an idea of what the hell he was doing.

“How did you know I was here?” Nott spat the question with suspicion written in every inch of his body. Harry hesitated. He would not be telling Nott about the Marauders Map. His first instinct was to say he followed him, but that simply wouldn’t work.

“I saw you were here,” he said and hoped against all hope it would be enough. It wasn’t.

“How?”

“I can’t tell you.” Harry hesitated before adding: “No one else can use it though. Just me.” He wasn’t sure if that would make it better or worse.

Some fraction of the tension seemed to slip from the other boy as he questioned: “Not even your friends?”

Harry shook his head. “Not without me.” While not technically true, it wasn’t a lie either since he always carried the map with him. He let his hands fall and slipped his wand into his pocket. After a moment, Nott followed suit. Harry felt a flicker of relief.

“What did you want with me?” Nott asked, stepping away from the open window. He slipped the quill and the inkwell into his bag. Harry decided not to ask about it, instead trying to come up with an answer. What  _ did _ he want with Nott?

“I figured I’d start with an apology,” he muttered and ran a hand through his hair. Nott’s eyebrows rose, almost hiding behind the hair falling into his face. He did not look ready to face the day. Then again, neither did Harry. 

“I… should not have said some of the things I said. And I didn’t… I had no idea about the dark magic and I’m sorry for making assumptions.” He wasn’t surprised when he found he really meant it. Explaining the concept of dark should’ve been done way sooner – in the first year, ideally. It might even help ease some tension in the school. His only consolation was that very few people had known – at least outside Slytherin.

Nott watched him like a hawk, trying to find anything insincere in him. “Apology accepted. Anything else?”

Harry ran a hand through his hair again. It got stuck briefly and he felt a few hairs tearing out. He winced internally. “You wanted something at the Dark Tower? What was it?”

“Nothing important,” Nott brushed him off. Harry supposed he deserved it. He looked the Slytherin over. He didn’t seem to had got much sleep that night either – it happened when one wanted to send a letter at four in the morning. Harry still wanted to know what was so important it couldn’t wait until a more reasonable time – or so secret. He didn’t consider it wise to ask.

“Your father,” he started and watched Nott stiffen. He was probably putting his foot into his mouth all the way up to his knee. “He attacked the place I was staying at with several others during summer. They’ve been captured.”

Nott shifted slightly and his eyes jumped around, obviously unsure how to react to such news. Harry did not blame him at all.

He shrugged. “I just thought you’d want to know he’s still alive.” The look that crossed Nott’s face before he nodded gave Harry a pause. It seemed like a cross between relieved and disappointed, but it was gone too soon for him to be sure.

An awkward silence settled between them, only interrupted by the rain hitting the drain outside. Harry reflected on the choices that led him there. He decided the day was going to be horrible. How was he supposed to… do anything if he couldn’t even keep a conversation going?

“Why is Malfoy a prefect?” he asked out of nowhere. He acknowledged to himself that it was a random and probably stupid question, but refused to back down.

“Why is Weasley a prefect?” Nott returned in the same tone.

Harry almost told him about the nonsense that was happening in the Gryffindor Tower on daily basis and how Ron dealt with it surprisingly sensibly most of the time. Then he decided Nott likely didn’t care. But the thought of Ron led to Pritchard, which brought him to Black and from there it was merely one step to another question.

“Why…” he hesitated. Nott wouldn’t tell him. He shook his head. “Why are you up?” he asked instead.

Nott narrowed his eyes. “Couldn’t sleep.” That was probably a lie. Or at the very least not the whole truth. “You?” 

Harry grimaced deliberately. “Same. It’s the rain.” He jerked his head at the window. That wasn’t the whole truth either, he wouldn’t have fallen asleep regardless of the rain, but it certainly hadn’t helped.

Nott shrugged. “Can’t hear it in the dungeons,” he noted with a smug look on his face.

The face Harry made in response at that was genuine. He just managed to stop himself from showing a rude gesture into the Slytherin’s face. Another gust of wind flew through the tower, showering them both in cool raindrops.

“Yeah, that’s it. I’m going back inside.” Harry scowled and stepped on the first step. Nott followed him after a moment.

“Don’t like rain?” he asked mockingly. Or perhaps teasingly, Harry thought. There was a fine line between the two. Harry threw a glance over his shoulder and saw nothing. He blinked. What- Oh right. He pulled out the wand and cast the Disillusionment charm too.

“No,” he replied shortly and wiped his glasses with the back of his hand angrily. It spread the water, making his vision worse. He cursed himself silently and charmed his glasses water-repellent.

The front door opened suddenly and Harry froze. He saw no one and assumed Nott was the one to pull them open, relaxing slightly. “It’s hard to keep track of your companions when they are invisible,” he noted into the empty space.

The space snorted. “I can see you as you move.” 

Harry froze, his eyes darting to the direction the voice came from. “You can what?”

“Well, not you exactly, just the air sort of moving. Can’t you?”

Harry relaxed briefly and shook his head. “No,” he added after a second. He moved his hand in front of his face. Now that Nott mentioned it and it wasn’t completely dark he could kind of see it.

Nott hummed in response. “Nice.” The joy in his voice couldn’t be faked. How was it, that Nott could see him, but he couldn’t see Nott? His sight was not that bad anymore. Not with the glasses anyway. He glanced about, looking for unnaturally moving air again. There was none.

“Why?” 

“Didn’t you listen to Flitwick?” came an amused response.

Harry rubbed the bridge of his nose. “Honestly? No, not really.” He usually tuned out the professors talking until they got to the parts that helped him cast the spell – the breakdown of how the spell works.

“Imagine a chameleon,” Nott told him. 

A lightbulb went on in Harry’s head. “Oh.” He did remember hearing that. Not exactly like a chameleon, but similar. Still… “Why can’t I see you, then?”

“It’s a different spell.” Harry’s interest was immediately piqued. There was a spell that could make him completely invisible, not just kind of not there and kind of fading into the background.

“What spell?”

There was a pause during which Harry wondered if the Slytherin had left. “It’s Dark Arts,” Nott said in the end.

Harry felt his brain freeze. He took a breath to spit something along the lines of  _ ‘of course it is what else did I expect’  _ before his knowledge caught up with him. “How? Black said-”

Nott laughed and cut him off. “I’m just messing with you. It’s Illusion magic.”

Harry scowled, but it failed to have an effect. “Prat,” he muttered. “What’s Illusion magic?”

“What does it sound like?”Not asked dryly. “It’s a part of Mind arts.”

Harry ignored the jab and focused on the second part. Mind arts. Occlumency was a part of that. He’s been making reasonable progress there – at least he thought he was. He was almost ready to enter his mindscape.

“What’s the spell?” He raised his eyebrow and gave Nott an intense look before remembering the Slytherin can’t see it. He huffed internally.

“What makes you think I will tell you?” Nott questioned from completely different direction.

Harry turned around to where he thought the Slytherin had gone. They still had to move from the entrance hall and he was getting uneasy. “Alright,” he said slowly. “What do you want for that spell?”

There is a moment of silence, either because Nott is thinking on it, or because Harry had shocked him; he couldn’t tell. But he did want that spell.

“You do realize you won’t be able to pull it off. Not without at least basic knowledge of Mind magic,” Nott told him. Harry supposed he should give him points for warning him, instead of just taking the trade and letting him to figure it out on his own.

“Don’t worry about that,” Harry moved so he wasn’t standing in the middle of the hall any longer.

“If you say so.” Harry got the impression Nott shrugged. “I’ll tell you the incantation if you tell me how you found me.”

Harry blinked. “Absolutely not. There are four-five people besides me who know what it is and I will not have the entire Slytherin house finding out.”

“You don’t get the spell, then.” Nott didn’t sound like he cared either way. Harry scowled in his direction. A memory came to him – of what he’d heard Susan offer to Dunbar last week in Herbology. Ron had claimed it was some old-fashioned pure-blood custom; or at least that was how he’d explained it to Hermione.

“How about this: You give me the spell, and I’ll owe you a favour?” Dunbar had refused, but he was reasonably sure the Slytherin wouldn’t. Then again, Dunbar had refused out of sheer spite.

Nott snorted in disbelief. “You’d rather owe me a favour than tell me how you found me? Very well.” He made a pause, possibly to give Harry a chance to change his mind. “The incantation is Cela an viso. It turns whatever you point your wand at invisible, including yourself. The counterspell is Conpare.”

Harry nodded. He kicked himself mentally because Nott  _ could not see him _ . “Alright… The favour-”

“I’ll think of something, eventually.” There was something in Nott’s voice that made Harry wary. It was a bit too late for that. He hoped he wouldn’t come to regret this.

“Well, have fun trying to cast it,” Nott said in awfully cheerful tone. “I’ll head back into the common room. See you around.”

There were no footsteps to be heard and no door opened. Harry couldn’t tell if Nott had truly left, or if he was still there. He didn’t dare take out the Marauder’s map until the Fat Lady closed after him. The cat from the fireplace was gone, leaving the common room truly empty. He dropped into one seat and dispelled the Disillusionment charm. Looking over the map, he found Nott in the Slytherin common room. It was obvious the Marauders have never been there, because there were no dorms on the map nor was the shape of the common room itself correct. Harry felt only slightly smug because they had managed. Even if Hermione had turned into a half-cat.

***

Harry looked down at his sketch of a chimera and sighed. The snake's head looked alright, the goat head coming from it’s back looked like had been attached by a sellotape and the lion’s head looked like many things, but decisively not a lion.

He looked up at the pictures on the board and sighed again. He drew an arrow pointing from the head and wrote ‘lion’ at the end of it. He did the same for goat.

Ron snickered and nudged him. He pointed at his very own sketch. The worst part of it was the lion too, but even the snake was barely more than long noodle. Harry shook his head and peeked into Hermione’s notes.

“Aren’t you gonna draw it?” he asked when he saw no picture at all.

Hermione glanced at him. “I know what a chimera looks like, Harry.”

Harry shrugged and turned his attention to professor Grubbly-Plank explaining how there was exactly one recorded instance of anyone killing the creature. Harry made a point to not think about how much he doesn’t want to meet one. 

He leaned back in his seat and looked around the classroom. Only five Slytherins took the class – Nott, Malfoy and his two goons and a girl who kept to herself. Harry honestly couldn’t remember what her name was. He forcefully dragged his attention from the Slytherins.

Alice and Dunbar sat at the very front with Sue Li. All three of them were copying the sketch diligently. Harry cast his eyes at his creation again and scoffed. He grabbed the parchment and stuffed it inside the book. It would not get any better. 

The bell announced the end of the lesson and he breathed out a sigh of relief. He grabbed his bag and rushed out from the dusty classroom. It was rarely used, usually only by Care of Magical Creatures during unacceptable weather. Such as that day, according to professor Grubbly-Plank. Harry didn’t necessarily disagree, but he would dearly like for classroom eleven to be cleaner. He hoped the next day would be better weather for the double lesson, but didn’t believe it.

“Well, I’m off for Arithmancy,” Hermione declared when she and Ron caught up with him in the Entrance hall.

Harry and Ron muttered their goodbyes, but she didn’t seem to have heard them as she waved at a Ravenclaw girl up ahead and caught up with her. Looking over people’s shoulders as much as possible, Harry recognized her as Morag MacDougal – and even that only because he remembered that one time she’d messed up in Transfiguration and McGonagall had to take her to the Hospital wing – not send, take.

Harry watched them disappear in the crowd going up the Grand Staircase, then grabbed Ron’s elbow. “Come on,” he murmured, “I need to go to the library.”

Ron shot him an odd look. “Why? I thought you were done with the Herbology essay?”

Harry rolled his eyes at Ron’s assumption he’d only go to the library for impending essay deadline – not to say he was wrong, but still. “It’s not for school.”

Ron’s eyebrows rose, but he followed him less reluctantly. The Library was empty as most were still in the last period. The fewer people the better, anyway.

Harry made his way through the library slowly, reading the plaques at different sections.  _ Transfiguration. Charms. History. Magical Creatures. Fiction.  _ No Mind Arts anywhere. He frowned as they finished the circle. Strange.

“What are we looking for?” Ron asked lowly as they came to a halt back where they started.

“Mind Arts,” Harry muttered in response. “Let’s ask.” He made his way towards the counter where Madam Pince sat, cataloguing newspapers from the last few days.

“May I help you?” she asked sharply when she noticed them. She looked them over, frowning a little at Ron.

“We were looking for some books on Mind Arts, but there doesn’t seem to be a section for them,” Harry told her, sounding appropriately perplexed.

“There is not,” she agreed. “Most are in the Restricted section, but there are few in the Defence section. Row fourteen.” She narrowed her eyes at them. “No access to Restricted section without permit. No exceptions.”

“Thank you.” Harry smiled at her tightly and made his way to the Defence part of the Library. He stopped at the indicated row and started reading the titles.

“Anything specific we’re looking for?” Ron asked eyeing the shelves critically.

Harry shrugged. “Illusion magic,” he recalled the name Nott had used for it. “There’s a spell I want to check out.”

“Oh?” Ron shot him a look. “What does it do?”

“Should turn anything invisible. Properly invisible.”

Ron didn’t say anything, but moved to the other side of the row, eyes roaming over the books. Harry paid him no mind, focusing on the books. He didn’t think he’d used row fourteen before. None of the titles sounded familiar.

His eyes stopped at a title  _ Neat tricks for everyday use.  _ It very obviously didn’t belong. He pulled it out and skimmed the register. It was written as if for young children and had a chapter named  _ how to disappear.  _ To his disappointment it told him exactly nothing about the spell he was looking for – about any spell, really. It did tell him how to effectively run from home, however. 

He put the book back, wondering how it got there. It didn’t seem very magical. Perhaps a muggle-born forgot it there.

Another book dealing with Mind Arts was about occulumency and the one after that was some general drivel about what Mind Arts were. Then Ron approached him, holding a book in his hand. It was bound in light leather, the title was written in golden letters. He held it open on a specific page.

“This one?” he asked, pointing at the title of the chapter. Cela an viso.

“Yeah.” Harry grabbed the book from his hands and sat at the corner table at the very end of the row. He started reading.

_ Cela an viso, commonly known as the true invisibility spell, has first appeared in the Roman Empire during the reign of Emperor Tiberius somewhere around 27 AD. For what it does, it is surprisingly easy spell to master, only requiring the most basic understanding of Mind Arts. _

_ Although not declared part of Dark Arts, in this day and age it is, as all Illusion magic, frowned upon by general populace of Great Britain and the Ministry itself… _

The description went on for at least half a page, detailing the origin and the stance of various countries on the use of this spell. The author then moved on to describe its difference against the popular Disillusionment charm and the less popular, misnamed Bedazzling Hex. Only then did it finally get to casting.

_ As with all Illusion magic, it is absolutely prudent that the caster clears his mind of any intrusive thoughts while casting this spell. The focus should be on desired effect and nothing more, else the spell will either fail completely, or work only partially. Such could result in only a part of the object being concealed, or to the whole object to be concealed shoddily, resembling the Disillusionment charm. _

_ After clearing the mind, one should picture the space around the object first with the object and get a clear image. With that image sufficiently fixated, one can move on to the actual part of casting. Taking the image, one needs to remove the desired object from the scene in his head, as if the object was never there. Hold this image for several seconds. _

_ Once the caster is sure the picture is clear, they can raise their wand and wave it in a spiral as indicated bellow – as if pushing away – and pronounce the incantation. With everything done correctly, the object should disappear. This spell can be used on objects, living beings as well as the caster themself. _

Harry grinned. This was it. And it only required clearing his mind, which he could already do. He glanced at Ron and saw him reading over his shoulder with interested expression.

_ To cancel the spell, the caster first needs to remember where they left the concealed object. Because of this we do not recommend using this spell on moving objects and/or beings and/or people who cannot cancel the spell themselves. _

_ It should be noted that this spell can only be dispelled if the caster of the counter curse knows there is something concealed by this spell and its approximate location. Knowledge of what exactly is concealed is not necessary, although it does make dispelling it easier. _

_ Once the concealed object is found the caster should focus his attention on the spot where it is located. If they know the object, they should reverse the process described above and merely imagine the object back in its place, visible. If not, it is best to not focus on anything appearing, instead diverting your attention to undoing the illusion. The caster then waves their wand in a spiral, again, as if pushing the illusion away from the object, while saying the counter curse Conpare. This can take several tries if the illusion is particularly strong. It is also possible the caster will take down only a part of the illusion… _

“I want to try this,” Harry said and got up. “But not here.” Ron nodded and took the book to put it away. They made their way out of the library and into their hidden room.

“Peerage,” Harry told Selwyn before the tapestry covering him even fully disappeared. He swung open with a raised eyebrow that neither Ron not Harry addressed.

Harry grabbed a crumpled attempt at a letter to Frank and set it down on the table. He stared at it intently and slowly started pushing stray thoughts out of his mind until only the sight before him was left. He pulled out his wand from his cloak pocket and chased away the thought of how he should get a holster.

“Cela an viso,” he said clearly and pushed the wand away from him while drawing a spiral in the air. The letter was gone the very next moment.

He felt a grin split his face. “Nice!” He reached forward to where the parchment had been and sure enough, his fingers brushed over it. He picked it up. It was strange. He felt its weight on his hand, its texture, but couldn’t see anything.

He placed it back onto the table and focused again, pushing the excitement out of his mind for the moment. “Conpare!” he ordered and repeated the wand movement. The parchment appeared again.

“Yes!” he called out and jumped up. He walked around the room twice, grinning maniacally.

Ron watched him with a stupid smile on his face. “First try. Good job,” he told him. 

Harry restrained his need to whoop and slumped back on the sofa, draping his legs over the armrest. “Now you try it.”

And Ron did. He tried several times before declaring it was impossible and dropping his wand in frustration. “I swear, it just cannot be done!”

“I did it,” Harry pointed out calmly from his spot.

“Beginner’s luck,” Ron claimed and crossed his arms.

Harry tilted his head to the side. Ron might have a point. He sat up and grabbed his wand again. Ron raised his eyebrow at him. “Go on, do it again.” He gestured at the offending piece of parchment.

Harry shook his head and closed his eyes. He cleared his mind and focused on himself. He couldn’t very well figure out how to picture himself not being there, so he just didn’t. He only focused on his wish not to be there and waved his wand. From Ron’s snort he knew he’d failed.

“Told ya,” Ron said with a grin before turning serious. “Sorry.”

Harry waved his hand dismissively and tried again to the same result. He frowned.

“Picture seeing yourself from somewhere else. It doesn’t have to be completely clear image,” Selwyn told him from his spot in the door. Harry’s eyes flickered to him and he nodded.

He took a deep breath and closed his eyes. He tried to imagine himself sitting at the sofa and felt acutely aware he  _ was _ , in fact, sitting on that sofa. He couldn’t get rid of that thought, so instead, he pictured the sofa empty. There was nothing on the sofa, least of all him. Ron was alone in the room, Selwyn wasn’t watching him and the sofa was unoccupied.

“Cela an viso,” he murmured under his breath and waved his wand possibly stronger and wider than necessary. He felt his magic flowing into it, however he felt no change about himself.

“Fucking hell,” Ron muttered and Harry knew he did it. He opened his eyes and nothing changed. He looked down and could see straight through himself. He brought his hand up and stared at it. There was no camouflage effect of moving air. He grinned happily.

“Now hope you can dispel it,” Selwyn said in a fake uninterested tone. Harry shut his eyes again and raised his wand. He imagined the world as it had been before. With him painfully aware he was sitting on the sofa.

“Conpare,” he said clearly. He felt strange all over. Every inch of his skin felt like it was being watched very intensely by someone. He shuddered. That was not a pleasant side effect. He hoped it would be gone soon.

He opened his eyes and grinned at Ron. “Beginner’s luck, eh?” he asked and dropped onto his back on the sofa, one hand under his head.

Ron huffed before picking up the discarded letter and throwing it at his head. “Shut up,” he got up and grabbed the Occlumency book from his table. He slumped in the armchair while Harry laughed.


	15. Common concern

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello there! Since it´s Christmas and I celebrate Christmas, you can have an early chapter. MERRY CHRISTMAS! If you don´t celebrate it, well, have a great day anyway and steal some cakes from the Christmas celebrating people around you. Gods know we have too many.
> 
> I´m afraid the chapter is not very Christmas-y, but it´s October for them, what do you want from me? At this rate you´ll be reading about Christmas during the Easter (no I have no idea when the Easter is this year and I don´t exactly care either, this was a rough estimation so don´t come after me if it´s wrong)...

“I hate this class,” Harry said, pulling out his dream diary. He checked his entry from the previous night – a made-up dream where he tried to drown Seamus. If he had been honest it would be a long hallway with a door at the end again. “I’d much rather take the Ancient Runes.”

Ron nodded mutely and jotted down his dream. Harry leaned over the table to read – Ron had been playing quidditch and flew into a dragon nest. He snorted. “That’s a bit on the nose,” he noted.

Ron shrugged. “She’d never noticed before.” He slammed the diary shut and dropped his head onto the table. Harry rolled his eyes and waved at Mandy who’d entered the room with MacDougal. They both smiled back and sat at their usual table.

Barely a moment later the trap door opened again and Umbridge climbed up unsteadily. She scowled at the entrance and noted something down. Harry kicked Ron under the table. Ron lifted his head and glared. Then he followed his eyes. His frown deepened, creasing his forehead.

The room fell quiet as the students recognized the ministry worker. They watched her with curious, but wary expressions. Trelawney turned around from where she’d been pulling out The Dream Oracle textbooks, her eyes narrowing briefly at the sight of the woman.

“I believe you’ve received my note?” Umbridge asked sweetly and made her way through the room.

“Yes,” Trelawney answered in an uncharacteristically cool voice and turned her back on her. She picked up the pile of dream interpretation books and started handing them to the students, telling them to find themselves a partner to work with – completely unnecessary as all of them already had one for two years.

Harry took his and Ron’s copy of the book from her hands and laid it down on the table. His attention was mostly focused on Umbridge, who had dragged a chair to the teacher’s table and sat down mere inches behind Trelawney’s seat. She was already taking notes. Somehow Harry didn’t think they were on Trelawney’s class yet.

“Interpret your last night’s dream with your partner,” Trelawney ordered them stiffly with none of the usual mysteriousness or flair. She made a move as if to go sit, before swiftly making her way to Lavender and Parvati.

“So, your dream?” Harry asked, pulling the book closer to himself.

Ron shrugged and propped his head up on his hand. “Am I gonna die a horrible and painful death?” he questioned with a disinterested tone.

“Everyone in this class is going to die some horrible way, Ron,” Harry pointed out, tutting at him. He flipped through the Dream Oracle.

“Right, my mistake.” Ron leaned back in his chair and rubbed his eyes, fighting a yawn. Harry ignored him in favour of making up some horrible fate for him.

“And how long have you been teaching here?” Umbridge asked, standing uncomfortably close to Trelawney, who looked like she’d rather be anywhere else. Harry would too.

“Almost sixteen years,” the professor responded after deciding the question was not intrusive enough to ignore.

“So you have been hired by professor Dumbledore,” Umbridge said. Harry raised his head and stared at them intently. They were both hovering near Parvati and Lavender, both of whom seemed to be attempting to set Umbridge on fire with their glares.

“Yes,” Trelawney agreed easily. She moved from the two girls to Dean and Neville. She leaned over Dean’s shoulder and read the entry they were discussing.

“And you are the great-great-granddaughter of the great Cassandra Trelawney, yes?” Umbridge pressed, scribbling down the monosyllabic answers. 

“Yes,” Trelawney gritted out through her teeth and flipped several pages in the Dream Oracle, pointing at something for Neville. “Here this is a better interpretation-”

“But I do believe – and correct me if I’m wrong – that you are the first one in the family since Cassandra to posses the Third Eye?”

Despite hating the class and the professor, Harry scowled on her behalf. Trelawney finished explaining the dream to Neville and straighten up. “These things tend to skip a generation or three,” she declared airily. “Like all magic, after all.” She moved to another pair of students and Harry scrambled for their Dream Oracle.

He heard Umbridge mutter: “I see,” and jolt something down, before he wrenched his attention back to Ron’s dream. Ron himself was almost asleep in his chair. Harry kicked him under the table.

“Your dream,” he hissed and read his entry again. Ron rolled his eyes and yawned widely.

“You are the one who zoned out,” he said, but leaned over the table, barely keeping his eyes open. Had he got any sleep at all?

“So what are the keywords?” he asked. “Dragon? Nest?”

“Was the dragon there?” Harry questioned back.

Ron shrugged. “Yeah, sure.”

“Dragon it is.” Harry nodded and flipped towards the beginning of the book, looking for the correct entry. “Well, it says here that you are governed by your passions and should… cultivate self-control.” He grinned at Ron despite the miserable lesson.

“What does the nest say?”

Harry obediently turned to the page talking about nests. “Eh, describe the nest.”

Ron rolled his eyes. “Forget it.” He turned the book to himself. “Now what about your dream?”

Harry groaned. “Don’t. I-”

“I wonder if you could make a prediction for me,” Umbridge said as Trelawney tried to move to a new table. She stood in her way, looking up at professor.

“Pardon me?” Trelawney’s tone was somewhere between incredulous and offended. She stared down at the pink-dressed toad.

“I’d like you to make a prediction for me,” she repeated calmly.

“The Inner Eye does not see upon command!” Trelawney sputtered indignantly. 

“I see,” Umbridge responded with something resembling disappointment on her face. Harry was sure it was entirely faked. She made another note. Trelawney watched her for a moment and Harry wondered if she was going to cave and make up some horrible fate for the ministry worker. In the end, she just walked around and approached Mandy’s table. Umbridge wrote down another line.

The rest of the lesson went on uninterrupted as Umbridge sat in her seat and Trelawney – along with the class – did her best to ignore her. Trelawney spoke about how subconsciousness influences the dreams and how they relate to past events, even if the connection isn’t immediately recognizable. Ron dropped his head on the table half-way through and Harry was tempted to join him.

He didn’t, but only barely. As the bell rang, announcing the beginning of the break, Umbridge was the first to leave the room. Harry picked up his things and saddled Ron with the duty of returning the Dream Oracle. He climbed down the ladder in an effort to get away from the “etheric” scents as soon as humanly possible.

“Hey Harry,” a female voice said from his side cheerfully. “How’s it going?”

Harry glanced at his right to find Mandy walking by his side. “Fine,” he said after a brief hesitation. “You?”

“Oh great. I got an E on the history essay. I don’t think Binns even read it.” She grinned and stuffed her hands in her pockets.

Harry grinned right back. “I got an E too.” He ran his hand through his hair. “My first one since the first year so he probably did read some of them. Say thanks to Lisa for me, eh?”

“You can thank her yourself,” she shot the idea down. “Oh hey there, Ron.”

“Hi?” Ron joined Harry on his other side. He looked between them in confusion. Harry shrugged.

“So, this Divination was different,” Mandy said as they entered the Great Staircase.

“Was it?” Ron asked. “I kind of slept through both of them.” He rubbed the back of his neck.

Harry rolled his eyes. “Yes, because you sleep through every Divination.” Harry waited until Mandy finished snickering and continued: “I don’t know, Umbridge was annoying, but my head still hurts and I still wanted to get out after twenty minutes, so...”

“Well, yes,” Mandy allowed, “but at least she didn’t do her usual mysterious persona thing.”

“Oh don’t worry, she’ll be back at it on Monday,” a new voice interrupted them. Another Ravenclaw, but Harry had never seen him before. “Flitwick’s looking for you,” he told Mandy. “You and Turpin, more specifically.”

Mandy pulled a discouraged face, obviously unhappy about being summoned, but likely aware of why. “Better not keep him waiting, then. Lisa’s in Ancient Runes,” she told him. “See you two later.” She waved at Harry and Ron and rushed through the halls, ducking between the people in the crowd with a skill of someone too short to be noticed right away. Harry knew the feeling and was glad he’d outgrown the phase.

“I’m Marcus Belby,” the boy told Harry. “Just wanted you to know I believe you.” He was gone before Harry could muster a response.

“This is happening an awful lot,” Ron noted.

“Tell me about it,” Harry muttered. “Let’s find Hermione.”

***

Harry dropped the quill from his stiff fingers, stretched his back and lifted his eyes from the essay. He cranked his neck with a grimace. McGonagall was, just like any other professor, seemingly trying to drown them in work. O.W.L.s were almost a full year away! 

He arched his back groaning. Snapping back forward, he huffed out a breath and rubbed the back of his neck. He closed the books he’d been using and rolled up his essay. McGonagall would have to be satisfied with what he’d managed. He snuffed out the candles and made his way to the couch, flopping down. He lay there with closed eyes for a while. The sun had set some time ago. The curfew couldn’t be far.

He pushed himself up and glanced at his friends. Ron had already claimed one of the books he’d been using. Hermione was scribbling furiously with a pencil onto a piece of regular paper. Not a homework then. He got up to take a look.

“What’s that?” he asked quietly as not to disturb Ron. He frowned at the various symbols. They reminded him of something. Something… metal? Tin? He couldn’t recall properly.

Hermione let out a gasp and startled. She shot him a dirty look. “The enchanted cube I took from the twins, remember it?” Harry nodded. He compared the drawings to the smooth surface of the cube and frowned. Just then he noticed a parchment with the same marks, only rearranged and in different handwriting. “Well, I found a way to… improve it.”

“How so?” Harry asked. There were several scribblings on her paper that lacked on the one from the twins.

“This way,” she gestured on her idea, “the spell should latch onto the person when active.”

Harry could just imagine someone accidentally walking into the dome while they were talking. Like this, there would be no chance of it. “Sounds handy. Does it have to be a cube?”

She shook her head. “It only needs to be tin.” She sighed. “Not many things are made of tin. Especially not in this world.”

“A can?”

“That’s not exactly convenient to haul around.” She huffed. “I’ll just write to my parents to find something tin and send it to me.” She didn’t sound happy saying that.

“I can ask Sirius,” Harry suggested. “The twins had to have got the cube from somewhere...” he trailed off. “They’re going to have more of them, aren’t they?”

Hermione nodded thoughtfully. “Are you suggesting what I think you are?”

“Well, they were going to use them for this exact thing anyway.” Harry shrugged. “You think Towler’s up for messing with them some more?”

She glanced at him, raising a single unimpressed eyebrow. “He’s never not going to be up for it.” 

Harry snickered. The poor sod got stuck in a room with the twins and Jordan back in their first year. He’d regretted it one thousand times over.

Harry wandered back to the sofa when Hermione returned to working on the plans. He sat down and tipped his head back. He should write the essay for Sprout. She’d asked for three feet on Chinese Chomping Cabbage. Harry would like to know why the Chinese had a cabbage that can bite you. Why would cabbage even need to bite?

He lay down, onto his back, and stared on the chandelier hanging in the middle. He was tired of writing essays on topics he cared nothing about. He shut his eyes and with practised swipe pushed his thoughts aside as he delved into his own mind.

It was taking some sort of form, finally. No longer the dark cluttered space it had been when he’d began. He looked around, taking in the landscape. He stood by a lake – and it reminded him strongly of the Black Lake near the castle. Darkness still lurked around the edges, creating something that looked like a floating island with a giant lake in the middle.

He bent down and submerged his hand into the water. It was cool and wet, but he felt nothing out of place. He picked up a pebble absently.

With no warning he was plunged into a memory. He found himself standing in a dark cemetery. He knew what was going to happen immediately. He wrenched himself out of the memory, but not before he heard a high voice order: “Kill the spare.” He gasped and leaned forward, clutching the stone. Taking a moment to compose himself he glared at it. The pebbles – and there were thousands – contained memories. Noted. Without thinking he drew his hand back and chucked the stone as far into the lake as he could.

He straightened up and stood on the shore indecisively. The book had said he should plant some defences first, in case someone does manage to get inside his mind. A sort of self-defence mechanism. He had no idea what to use. What could he use? He was stuck with a mental landscape of a giant lake. The book had been very clear on that matter – landscape was not a choice. It was the representation of the subconsciousness. Which was probably why it was cloudy and on the verge of raining right then.

He sat down, his shoulders slumped. There was a rift in the ground few dozen meters to the side. He didn’t want to go and check it out. He was reasonably sure it had come from the castle’s intrusion weeks ago.

He picked up another random pebble from under his shoe and tossed it in his hand. It was the memory of writing the Transfiguration essay barely ten minutes ago. He dropped it again. He wondered if he could put some creature into the lake. Hagrid would be able to tell him if there was some water nightmare to use as a guard dog. But Hagrid was gone and no one would tell him where or for how long. He leaned sideways to rest his shoulder on a tree.

It was an aspen, he thought. There were several of them around the lake. The leaves were growing and falling at an unusual speed. He picked one from the ground and got a vague feeling of irritation from it and… it kind of felt like breakfast. Not smelled, felt. Like an echo of the idea of it with a pointed intention. He dropped it and snatched another one from the air. That one reminded him of Hagrid. He tilted his head and let go of it, watching it drift to the ground. Were those… thoughts?

It started drizzling. He looked up at the sky. It was the most cliched representation of emotion he’d ever heard of. He liked it anyway.

He closed his eyes and let the rain drip onto his face. When he opened them again he was back in their room, staring at a ceiling. He frowned. He hadn’t meant to leave his mindscape. 

He sighed and pushed himself into sitting position. Checking the time he determined he’d been hanging out in his own head for a bit over fifteen minutes. Hermione had moved from her table to an armchair and was reading a book. Ron had his head in his hands over his essay. The spells themselves may be of little problem to him, but writing essays never failed to make him want to tear his hair out.

Harry yawned and slumped back down onto the sofa. He stuck his hand into the air and stared at it blankly. He couldn’t help the pleasant proud warmth that spread in his chest. He’d done it! He’d finished the first step in learning occulumency. In just little over a month. He needed to let Sirius know. He might as well pen the letter. 

“Inflamari,” he uttered and lit the candles on his desk. He rummaged around for a spare piece of parchment and grabbed the quill. He could use a pen, but they had all ran out of the ink more than a year back and he had never bothered to get more. He’d got used to the medieval way of writing in the magical world.

_ Snuffles, _

_ Thanks for the last letter. It’s been thoroughly entertaining to read about Remus’ attempts at cleaning the basement. _

_ Things are still the same here. Most of Gryffindor are still prats. The other houses are getting better though, I think. Ravenclaw, at the very least, and I suppose Hufflepuff too. Susan has been very friendly of late. _

_ I’ve had the dream again, several times. The one with the corridor and door.  _

_ What is new, however, is my occlumency. I’ve seen my landscape! Most of it, anyway. It’s very interesting. And calm. There’s quite a bit of water and some aspens. Any insight? The books say I need to build defences, but I’m not sure what to do with what I have. I guess I’ll have to do some reading. _

_ In any case, I’m doing fine. What about you? What’s the Order up to? Have you heard from F, lately? And are there any news regarding our mutual concern? _

_ Be careful and make your mother hate you some more by cleaning the house up already. _

_ Harry _

_ P.S.: You wouldn’t happen to know where to buy something made of pure tin? I don’t need it, yet, but we are trying a thing and if we don’t manage to get a hold of it here, it would be nice to know where to go to. _

Harry set the quill down and let the ink dry for a while. He popped a chocolate frog into his mouth and tossed the wrapping on the table. His eyes fell onto a different parchment. He rubbed his temples and grimaced at it.

_ Dear Lord Brassfern, _

_ It has recently come to my attention that I hold the title of an Earl and will eventually be required to sit at Wizengamot. This is the first I’ve heard of this and thus consider myself woefully unprepared for any such function. _

_ I was wondering if you would be willing to explain to me what such a position demands, what duties it places upon me and generally what it means to be a noble in the magical world. _

_ I am aware that the Potter family is a mixed magical line and that it also is a branch of another family and I do recognize that the politics may be quite different. Nevertheless, I would appreciate any advice you have to offer. _

_ I look forward to hearing from you at your earliest convenience. _

_ Yours truly, _

_ Harry J. Potter _

Harry scowled at the writing. He’d rewritten the letter no less than six times. This version had been made with Hermione’s help. She had insisted on the signature – after he’d refused to sign it with what was, apparently, his title – and found the correct way to address a noble for him. She also found out what the Longbottoms were earls of. He’d done his best to sound posh and educated.

He sighed and folded the parchment into an envelope. He’d been putting it off for long enough. With a little luck, Frank wouldn’t have the time to help him out and he’d be spared the awkwardness. Not that that would do him any good in the long run – quite the contrary.

“I’m going to the owlery. Are you coming?” he asked, breaking the silence. He extinguished the candles again and looked over at his friends.

“Nah, working,” Ron muttered into his hands. Harry snorted and looked at Hermione.

She glanced at the book in her lap, then shut her gently. “Alright. See you in the common room, Ron?”

“Yeah, yeah, whatever.”

Harry and Hermione picked up their things and made their way outside. Selwyn wished them good night as they peered around the gobelin. There was a pair of second-year Ravenclaws passing through the corridor, talking in hushed voices. Harry glanced at Hermione just to see her grin widely, before schooling her expression. She stepped from behind the tapestry behind their backs.

“Isn’t it a bit late to be wandering the school?” she asked sharply, approaching them with long strides. The two boys spun around fast enough to give themselves a vertigo. Harry leaned his shoulder against the wall and watched the scene unfold.

“Well?” she demanded and stopped in front of them, he hands at her hips. She stared down at them and Harry didn’t need to see her expression to know she looked terrifying – she had been taking lessons from Mrs Weasley, it seemed.

“We were- We were just-” one of the boys stuttered and looked at the other nervously.

“Yes?” Hermione sounded anything but patient. Harry tilted his head to the side and bit his inner cheek.

“Well…” the other boy tired, “We… We were just looking for… for…” They couldn’t even lie. Harry could lie a lot better at that age. It took him a moment too long to realize he should not be proud of that.

“Nevermind. It’s after your curfew. Five points from both of you should do it, hm?” The boys looked at each other before nodding swiftly. “Good. Now get back to your common room.”

Harry waited a few moments after their footsteps faded before he stepped out from behind the tapestry. “Was that truly necessary?” he asked, his voice laced with genuine amusement.

“Of course,” Hermione replied snidely. “Rules are there to be followed.” Her gaze dared him to claim otherwise. Harry chuckled, but didn’t.

“Let’s go,” he said instead and led the way outside the castle. Hermione fell in step with him.

They encountered only a very few students in the halls. It was close to the curfew for the older students and most had already returned to the common rooms. 

“You don’t have a patrol tonight?” Harry asked, pushing the front door open. She was supposed to have a patrol with Parkinson on Wednesdays, wasn’t she?

She shook her head. “We switched with Lewis and Jane. Parkinson wanted to have today free.”

“What for?”

She smiled at him gently. “I have no clue, Harry. I didn’t ask. We are not exactly close.” Her smiled widened. “At least she’s no longer spouting insults every time we meet. That’s kind of nice.”

Harry nodded. “Yeah, she’d been suspiciously absent from Malfoy’s presence, hasn’t she?”

They entered the owlery. It was dark in there and cold. Harry shuddered despite himself. The birds couldn’t possibly be happy with that temperature.

“She has. So has the others,” Hermione agreed, contemplative look on her face. “It’s odd.”

“Tell me about it,” Harry muttered and approached the indignantly hooting snowy owl that had landed nearby. “Hello there, girl.” He stroked her feathers and she nipped his fingers affectionately. “I have two letters for you today.” He held out the two envelopes. He tied them to her leg. “This one’s for Snuffles, deliver that first. The other is for Frank Longbottom. I’m don’t think you need to wait around for a response from either.”

Hedwig hooted and nipped his fingers again. Then she took off, leaving behind a single white feather. Harry turned around in time to see Hermione mouth “finally” in his direction. He frowned at her. “Back to the common room?” he questioned.

“Yes. I can’t be caught out breaking the curfew the same day I punished someone for it.”

“Why ever not?” Harry grinned at her, holding the door to the Owlery open for her.

“Because, Harry, that is called hypocrisy.” She shook her head at him and made her way down the hill. 

Harry laughed and caught up with her in a few long steps. “So,” he started casually, “when do you think you’ll have the cubes?”

Hermione glanced at him. “Don’t know. I have to first speak to Kenneth. After he gets them? Few days, at least. I haven’t enchanted anything before.”

Harry nodded. Enchanting wasn’t taught at Hogwarts. Maybe it would be covered in the N.E.W.T. Charms, but maybe it wouldn’t. It seemed to be a completely different branch of magic.

“Wouldn’t just using the spell be easier?” he asked. He didn’t know the spell, but was sure he could learn. Should, even. Besides, enchanted objects could be lost. A wand, less likely so.

Hermione nodded once and then shook her head. “The spell is areal too. So yes for the original design. No for mine.” She grinned at him smugly.

Harry grinned right back. This was why it was a wonder Hermione wasn’t a Ravenclaw. Not that she didn’t make a great Gryffindor. The hat knew it’s job, after all. The grin slipped from Harry’s face at the thought. He’d asked. Gryffindor hadn’t been the hat’s first choice.

“Are you alright?” Hermione asked, eyebrows furrowed.

“Yeah.” Harry shook his head to rid himself of the thoughts. It wouldn’t have chosen Gryffindor if it thought he couldn’t be there. He hadn’t asked for a specific house. He had just said:  _ "Not Slytherin." _ It didn’t matter what the first choice had been. He was a Gryffindor. 

“Just…” He fished around for an excuse. He would not be telling Hermione. He wanted as few people as possible to know, trust or no. His eyes landed on the staircase leading to the dungeons. He gestured at it. “I’m worried about that.” It wasn’t even a lie.

Hermione followed his gesture and frowned. “I am too,” she agreed. They continued up the Grand Staircase. “I was thinking,” she hesitated for a moment and glanced over her shoulder. “Maybe we should… check. Just to make sure.”

“Check?” Harry asked. She wanted to search the dungeons for the Death Eaters? “I don’t think the Slytherins will take kindly to us snooping about.” It didn’t matter how neutral most of them were at the moment, dungeons were still theirs. Especially since the other houses never ventured deeper than the potions classrooms. According to a legend, the dungeons changed their layout ever so often. The map never showed it happening, so it was probably just a myth.

“I know,” Hermione huffed and made a face. “We’d have to sneak out. McGonagall won’t like that if she finds out.”

Harry snorted. “Well, she’ll hardly be surprised. Besides, we can turn invisible now.”

“No, Harry,” she jabbed him in the ribs, “you can turn invisible. And the cloak is not big enough for me and Ron both.”

Harry rolled his eyes and massaged his side. “I can turn you invisible.”

“No, thank you. I’ll stick to casting spells on me by myself...” she trailed off and stopped at the landing below the seventh floor.

Harry glanced at her. She wore a contemplative look. “What is it?”

She hesitated for only a second. “I… How about Halloween? I mean, everyone’s going to be at the feast.”

They would. Because no one misses the Halloween feast. Not even if most of the food is too sweet. “Someone will notice if we don’t attend.”

Hermione frowned. “Well, yes, but… it’s not mandatory to be there.”

That was an intriguing bit of information, but not what Harry had meant. “Do you want to attract that kind of attention?” he asked carefully. “With the Ministry watching?” With Dumbledore watching, he added mentally, but didn’t dare to voice it.

Hermione considered it before inclining her head. “So it’s back to square one,” she sighed and moved up the stairs again. “And back to sneaking out at night.”

“At least we have practice in that already,” he told her with some amusement, dodging the elbow aimed at his ribs. He lifted his hands. “Don’t worry, if the dungeons are as big as everyone thinks we won’t find anything anyway. Inferno.”

The Fat Lady sighed. “There is one inside right now,” she told them and swung open. Harry exchanged a look with Hermione when the commotion reached them through the portal. Hermione looked up to the sky with an exasperated expression and entered first. Harry immediately noted the absence of the pedestal that usually stood in the way.

Quite a crowd had gathered in the common room, with sixth-year Suri and fourth-year Wax in the middle. Wax sat on Suri’s shoulders, her hands spread out. “BEHOLD,” she thundered as menacingly as a fourteen-year-old with a cracking voice can manage. “THE GOD-” She raised her hand. “OF NIGHT!” All candles, even the fire in the fireplace, went out at once. The gathered crowd cheered.

“NOW, MORTALS,” she continued. “BRING US THE SACRIFICE!” There was a lot of shuffling and muttered swears until someone raised a circle of fire in front of the “god”.

“What are they doing?” Harry whispered to Hermione when he recognized the object in the circle. It was the old wooden pedestal that people kept bumping into when entering the common room.

Wax raised both her hands above her head and tilted her head backwards. She let out a shrill scream. Suri made a subtle gesture with his wand and the fire circle flared up. “Oh Merlin,” Harry muttered. The pedestal caught on fire. The smoke rose to the ceiling.

“BASK IN THE HOLY FIRES!” Wax yelled. “COME CLOSER MORTALS! GET A TASTE OF THE FLAMES OF NIGHT!”

Someone approached the fire and stuck their hand in. They pulled it out immediately, red, but uninjured. Another person approached the fire.

“ENOUGH!” Hermione yelled and stepped forward. She took out her wand and lit the candles with a single spell, illuminating the whole room. Quite an impressive feat, considering how many there were.

Harry tried to extinguish the fire that was filling the room with smoke. It didn’t work, so he dumped water on it and flicked his wand to open the windows.

“What do you think you are doing?” Hermione glared at the gathered crowd, especially at the older students. A good quarter of the house had gathered in the common room. Harry assumed the rest were hiding in their rooms until this insanity was over. First-years had already come down and were peeking from the staircase.

“Calm down, Granger, it’s just a pedestal. It got into everyone’s way, even McGonagall isn’t going to miss it,” one of the seventh year boys said dismissively.

“I don’t care about the pedestal, Nolton.” Hermione turned her glare solely at him. He took a step back. “But why, by Merlin, are you sticking your hands in the fire?” She turned to look at the others when he didn’t answer. “Whose idea was this?”

“The burning or the hands?” someone in the crowd asked. Harry tried searching them out with his look, but they were hidden.

“The hands,” Hermione forced through gritted teeth, glaring in the general direction of the voice.

The students shuffled in place, most looking away. However, no one said anything. Harry looked over the faces he recognized. Dean stood by the fireplace awkwardly, along with Parvati and Lavender. Ginny was by the windows, hands crossed over her chest. Katie seemed ready to bolt up the stairs. Third-years Nuts and Murphy were doing their best to hide behind the older students. Wax had yet to climb down from Suri’s shoulders.

“If you think I can’t put you all in detention, you are wrong,” Hermione noted just as the door opened. Harry looked over his shoulder to see Ron. He watched as his friend took in the scene before him with furrowed brows and wrinkled nose.

“What the hell happened here?”

The presence of another prefect seemed to have broken the resolve of the younger students. They stirred into movement and guilty looks under Hermione’s irked gaze, before one of them opened his mouth. “Sturton’s.”

Angry whispers of “traitor” and “coward” broke out, but quickly subsided with one angry look. “Where is he?” Hermione demanded.

Harry scanned the room again, but couldn’t see the boy anywhere either. Muttering started rising from various people as they turned about, swearing to Merlin he had been there “just now”. One of Sturton’s roommates went to check their room, but he wasn’t there either.

Hermione scowled at them again. “Well, wherever he is, tell him he just cost this house twenty points for this stupidity and has a detention with professor McGonagall on Friday. This,” she pointed at the scorched pedestal, “was dangerous.” She sighed and pinched the bridge of her nose. “Clean it up and go to bed, all of you."


	16. Into the Dungeons

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Regularly scheduled chapter as well as a bonus chapter in one week? You bet!

Harry leaned back against the pine. One leg bent at the knee supported the book in his lap, while the other was propped up on a rock in front of him. The waves rolled heavily in the lake bellow him, readying for the upcoming storm. Wind messed with his hair and blew leaves onto the pages. Harry absently brushed them off and pulled his cloak tighter around himself, raising the hood to cover the back of his neck.

He sat far from the castle, across the lake from the Forbidden Forest. No one else had made their way this far out onto the lands at a day like this, leaving it peaceful and quiet. Harry twirled a wand between his fingers, eyes skimming the book.

Soft hoot caught his attention and he looked up on the branches above him. An owl flew down, perching on his offered forearm. “Hello.” There was a letter tied to its leg. Harry frowned and took it. “Who are you, then?” he asked, not expecting an answer. 

The owl flew away. He watched it aim for the castle before staring at the letter. He turned it around, looking for an indication of who had sent it. The gold wax seal bore an insignia – a letter G with three swords crossed behind it. It told him nothing about the sender. He broke the seal and let the letter slip into his hand. The very first words brought a grimace to his face.

_Dear Lord Sablewich,_

_we write to you in a matter of your vaults._

_It has come to our attention that there has been a disturbance around one of your vaults bordering the public area of the bank. Signs of attempted forced entrance were found. The vault in question is Vault 442. We are now working on investigating the matter._

_Yours sincerely,_

_Burgock the Knut,_

_Head of Security of the Gringotts Wizarding Bank_

Harry’s grimace slowly morphed into a confused creasing of forehead. Wasn’t his Vault 687? Did he have more than one? He supposed he should’ve expected that. But why would anyone try to break into his vault? What was in Vault 442 anyway? Perhaps he should check with the goblins. He recalled the insignia. At least that one wouldn’t be too hard to identify in the future.

He sighed and leaned his head against the tree, shutting his eyes. No one was trying to kill him and yet the year felt more exhausting than ever. He forced his eyes open and focused back on the book. The wind had flipped some pages and he found himself staring at a picture of a very angry giant snake. It was cobra-like, with a hood flaring, but reminded Harry of a basilisk – except instead of horns it had long string-like pieces on its head.

Selma, he read. A gigantic serpent from the icy lakes of Norway. Carnivorous beast living on fish and human flesh. He winced and eyed the Great Lake suspiciously. How many deadly snakes did magical world have?

He shut the book and hesitated. Watersnake. He had a lake in his head. He could also speak to snakes. And this particular snake seemed dangerous. He flipped back to the page and sure enough, the Ministry categorized it as known wizard killer. Maybe…

A crack behind him startled Harry out of his thoughts. He scrambled to his feet, book in one hand and a wand in the other. In the shade of the trees stood a tabby kneazle – a large one, even for a magical cat. Light reflected on its light blue eyes.

Harry lowered his hand and grumbled lightly in its direction. It tilted its head to a side like a dog would, never looking away from him. Harry shook his head and grabbed his bag, swinging it over his shoulder. Time to go back. They had plans for the evening after all. He passed the creature, deciding to take the shorter path back – the one that ran on the edge of the Forbidden Forest.

He made his way into the castle, dragging his feet a little to get rid of most of the mud on his shoes. People were already streaming into the Great Hall as he pushed his way to the first floor.

“Evening,” Selwyn greeted him and swung open at the password. Harry ignored the man’s light smirk in favour of his sanity and dropped his bag at his table.

“There you are. Bones was looking for you,” Ron told him from his position on the couch.

“Susan? What did she want?”

Ron shrugged. “Dunno. Didn’t say. Just that she wanted to talk to you.”

Harry frowned. What could the Hufflepuff had wanted? “How’s occulumency?” he asked Ron, nodding at the book on the table.

Ron shrugged non-committally and stood up. “Let’s get dinner and find Hermione. We’ve gotta get ready.” He led the way out and down the stairs.

“I still don’t know what she wants to _get ready for_ ,” Harry noted with amusement as he followed him. “It’s not like there is anything dangerous in the- in there.”

Ron snorted. “No. Aside of them.” They entered the Great Hall and sat down at the end of the Gryffindor table. “And there used to be a troll there.”

Harry rolled his eyes and started picking his dinner. “No,” he pointed a finger at Ron, “there didn’t. The was a troll once, because some idiot let it in. That is a major difference.”

“Details.” Ron waved his hand dismissively. “Look there,” he nodded at the head table. Harry followed his eyes and looked over the professors. Black and McGonagall were talking over the headmaster’s empty seat. “Where’s Dumbledore?”

“Maybe running late.”

Ron made a disbelieving sound. “Maybe.” He turned back to his plate.

“Hello Harry, Ron.” Ginny sat down next to Harry, loading her plate. “Have you heard?” she asked without any preamble. “Towler gave Benjamin Dunbar a concussion.”

Ron choked on his potato. “He what?” he wheezed between two coughing fits.

“Anapneo,” Harry sighed and waved his wand. Ron stopped choking and gulped down a glass of water, nodding his thanks.

“Why?” he asked Ginny, while tucking his wand away. The older Dunbar sibling was in the N.E.W.T. year and Harry knew admittedly little about him, aside of not being as obsessed about Quidditch as most of the house.

“Neither will tell,” Ginny shrugged. “They were leaving Potions when it happened. They were alone in the hallway. The Ravenclaws say they heard them arguing. No one knows what about.”

Harry hummed. Towler wasn’t easy to anger. What could Dunbar have said to warrant such violence?

“When did this happen?” Ron asked with furrowed eyebrows.

“Just now, before dinner.” Ginny popped a tomato into her mouth. She swallowed heavily and added: “Towler’s not spoken to his roommates properly in weeks.”

Ron tilted his head. “His roommates are the twins and Dunbar. I am not surprised.”

“We haven’t spoken to Seamus in weeks,” Harry added, jerking his head towards the rest of the house. They had left several empty seats between themselves and Harry.

“You haven’t spoken to anyone whose name isn’t Hermione or Ron in weeks,” Ginny huffed at him and stabbed a piece of cucumber.

“That is not true,” Harry opposed her calmly, quietly pleased he was telling the truth. Nevermind that he hadn’t started any of those conversations.

“Right, also Neville and the professors. They don’t count.” She rolled her eyes at him. He scoffed in offence. He was not that anti-social anymore. “Where is Hermione?”

“With Beltaine,” Ron answered before Harry could look around. Instead, Harry glanced at the head table again. The potions professor wasn’t present.

“Why?”

Ron raised one shoulder slightly, but otherwise didn’t respond. Ginny looked at Harry, but he just shrugged too. He poured himself some tea and took a sip. He shook his head at Ron’s amused expression.

“Five years,” Ron noted.

Harry glared at him. “Nothing should taste like pumpkin, least of all juice.” Ron merely snickered in response.

“I completely agree,” Hermione muttered as she sat down next to Ron. Harry smiled at her. “Seriously, have you people never heard of oranges?”

“Pumpkin is better,” Ginny declared immediately, taking a long sip as if to prove it.

“Have you ever had orange juice?” Harry asked dryly.

“Of course!” she called at the same time as Ron said, “Not really?”

What? Harry’s eyes snapped to Ron. “Never?” he questioned, trying to figure out how that was possible. Ron shook his head. “What about fizzy drinks?” Another shake.

Harry exchanged a look with Hermione. “During the holidays,” she said slowly, never taking her eyes off him, “we are making you drink orange juice and fizzy drinks.”

Ron hesitated for a second. “Alright… What are fizzy drinks?”

“Carbonated drink.”

Harry sent her an incredulous look. “Drinks that fizzle in your mouth. They have bubbles in them, like butterbeer,” he explained. “Seriously, Hermione, how many people in this room do you think know what carbon is?”

“Quiet, Harry, I believe in them,” Hermione shushed him and reached for a piece of bread.

“Hopeless,” Harry shook his head.

***

The Gryffindor common room wasn’t nearly as oppressive when no one was there. Harry quietly shut the door leading up to the boys’ dorms and glanced around. The carpet was still scorched, as was the ceiling, but the pedestal had been removed. Finally. Hopefully no one would get the brilliant idea to replace it.

Ron sat on one of the armchairs, forehead wrinkled and one hand gripping the armrest. His eyes were fixed on the flames in the fireplace. He almost looked like a statue, if not for the occasional look at the girls’ dormitory.

Harry leaned against a table and picked up a piece of parchment left there by one of the students. He idly skimmed the contents. Charms homework, probably one of the third years. Wasn’t signed, but the author would be lucky to get poor on it. Perhaps he could fix it for them…

He dropped the essay back and grabbed a box of Bertie Bott’s beans and popped one into his mouth. Grass. Not his favourite. He returned the box, deciding to not try his luck in case there were any truly vile one left in the package. He looked through the rest of the things left on the table. Most of it school-related or leftovers from various sweets. A small package caught his attention and he fished it out from under a stack of unused parchment. It seemed to have been hidden on purpose. Opening the box, he understood why.

Harry had not actively known there were cigarettes in the magical world, but staring at the dozen rolls of something in a light blue box he wasn’t surprised to find there were. He let one slip into his palm, hoping these were just a gum that pretended to be a cigarette, but was disappointed. No gum could be this light. He hesitated exactly one second, before turning and approaching Ron.

“Hey, what do wizards think of smoking?” he asked, sitting down on the edge of another table.

Ron looked up from the fire, startled. He stared at Harry for a second before saying: “You shouldn’t. It’s not… most people don’t.” He shot him a searching look.

“So I’m correct to assume Hogwarts doesn’t allow this?” Harry handed him the pack. Ron looked between him and the cigarettes for a second before taking it. He scratched his head.

“I don’t actually know,” he admitted, turning the package in his hands. “Pipes are forbidden and so are cigars, but… well, it’s smoking, so I guess this isn’t alright either.”

“Pipes,” Harry repeated. Cigars he understood, they were expensive and fancy. But pipes? Who even had a pipe?

Ron just looked at him blankly and shrugged. “Yeah.” He looked down at the pack. “Where did you find this?” Harry gestured behind him at the table. Ron nodded and, after a brief hesitation, handed it to him. “Put it back. I want to know whose it is. Someone could’ve just hid among the mess others have left.” Harry nodded and returned the cigarettes under the pile of parchment.

“What’s muggles’ stance on it?” Ron asked, his head tilted.

Harry sat back down on the table. “It’s not something you’re supposed to do. It’s unhealthy and generally marks you as a bad person.” He grimaced. “Dudley and his friends smoke.”

Ron snorted, his grip on the armrest relaxing. “His parents must be over the moon.”

“They don’t know,” Harry noted dryly and started playing with his wand.

“And you are not going to tell them.”

Harry grinned slyly. “I don’t see why I should.” He rolled his eyes. “Besides, he stinks like an ashtray every time he comes home, it’s not my fault they haven’t noticed.”

“Of course.” Ron shook his head. “My mum would have my head.”

“Good thing you don’t smoke, then.”

“Of course not. Do you have any idea how expensive it is?” Ron waved his hand in dismissal. “Where is she?” He glared at the girls’ dorm.

Harry shrugged, unconcerned. “Maybe Tolipan is blocking the bathroom again. It’s not like we can check on her anyway-”

“-Especially since you two should be in bed,” a stern male voice interrupted him. Harry and Ron both froze, looking around, until Harry’s eyes landed on a portrait over one of the alcoves. He’d never paid much attention to portraits, so he had no idea who the redhead watching them was.

“Well?” the portrait demanded. “Cat got your tongues?”

“It’s none of your business,” Ron snapped back at him. “Go back to sleep, or whatever it is you portraits do.”

“As if, with you two yapping about who knows what,” the portrait grumbled with a glare.

“We will be quiet,” Harry promised quickly, kicking Ron in the shin when he opened his mouth again. The portrait muttered something unintelligible, but closed his eyes. Harry breathed out a sigh of relief and settled back in silence. He caught Ron rolling his eyes and kicked him again. Ron glared at him and moved his feet from his reach.

They didn’t have to wait long, thankfully as Hermione appeared minutes later. She shut the door carefully and approached them, taking a seat at a sofa. “Sorry, Lavender and Parvati wouldn’t go to bed,” she murmured. “You had no problems?”

They shook their heads. Ron straightened up. “So, how are we doing this again? Harry goes invisible, I use the Disillusionment charm and you take the cloak?”

Harry nodded. “We can drop it in the dungeons once we are past the Slytherin common room, I think.” They exchanged a look, tension around their eyes. Sneaking out after curfew was no longer exciting and the aim of this particular expedition was sending shivers down Harry’s spine.

Ron moved first, taking out his wand. Harry passed Hermione the cloak and twirled his wand between his fingers before turning it on himself and whispering the incantation. Nothing changed, but when he looked down, he only saw the table. He looked up just as Hermione threw the cloak’s hood over her head and disappeared.

“This is kind of obvious,” Ron’s voice came from his left, “but it now occurs to me that we can’t see each other.”

Harry couldn’t stop the amused snort. He stood up and opened the Marauders’ Map, tracing the movements. He laid it on the table and cast the counter on it. “Remember, if you run into anyone, they can’t see you,” he said. “Just make sure they don’t hear or bump into you.” He imagined they both nodded, but couldn’t be sure. This was going to be difficult.

“How do we… you know, communicate?” Ron asked. Harry rubbed his neck, thinking. They could talk as long as no one was nearby, but if they ran into a patrol? They could hold on to each other, but that would be inconvenient. Maybe, he thought with wry amusement, they should’ve thought of this sooner.

“Guys, you’re still here, yes?” Ron’s voice sounded uncertain, startling a laugh out of Harry.

“Yes, Ron,” Hermione responded with a chuckle. “I’m just trying to think of something.”

“Makes three of us,” Harry muttered. 

“How about we don’t?” she suggested after a moment. “I mean, we all know how to get down there. I say Ron takes the map, since he can be seen and we just make our way to the dungeons alone.”

They were all silent, considering it. Harry didn’t have a better idea. “Alright,” he agreed, then grimaced. “But we have to find a solution for the next time.” Because there would always be a next time and this idea was far from ideal.

They agreed and Ron pocketed the map. “Let’s meet in dungeon five. That should be deep enough and Beltaine doesn’t lock the classrooms.”

“I won’t even ask how you know that,” Harry muttered. “Let’s go.”

The castle was dark, but without the map, Harry didn’t dare to light his wand. He passed through the empty corridors quickly, not at all disturbed by the eerie quiet and emptiness. Four years of night-time wandering had made him immune to such. There was nothing to fear in the castle anyway. Even Peeves wouldn’t be an issue for him. Not covered in illusion magic as he was. He grinned at the thought.

He stopped when another pair of footsteps joined his. They echoed loudly through the halls and it took a while to identify where they were coming from. He changed his direction from a hidden passage onto the Grand Staircase and jogged down four landings onto the third floor. He ducked into the corridor on the right and made his way into the room that used to house Fluffy. The trapdoor was gone, but there was a simple wooden door on the opposite side of the room – one that had not been there during the first year. Harry tapped the handle twice and nudged the wood with his fist. It swung open, revealing a steep narrow staircase spiralling down.

Holding one hand on the wall, he descended several steps before the door shut behind him, leaving him in complete darkness. He stopped, not wanting to tumble down four floors, and pulled his wand from his pocket. He lit the tip and continued down.

He emerged in the same room that once had Devils’ snare inside. The room was now significantly more plant-less, thankfully. It was also about three floors deeper than it had been. Harry shook his head over the castles inability to keep the same layout over prolonged periods of time and slipped into the hallway. He shuddered and pulled the cloak tighter around his shoulders while sinking deeper into his hoodie. 

He walked down the corridor, listening closely for anyone on patrol. Someone was moving up ahead and approaching him. He dashed into the nearest room and shut the door.

The room he’d chosen to hide in was some sort of old classroom. Desks were arranged in a U-shape with the teacher’s desk to the side of the door. A giant blackboard hung behind it, covering almost the entire wall. Cobwebs and dust covered every available surface, just like in any other unused classroom. It couldn’t be an old potions lab, no one would allow students to brew in this seating, let alone on wooden desks. But what else was taught in the dungeons? Nothing, as far as Harry remembered. Perhaps some old subject no longer offered by the school? Selwyn would know. Harry shook himself and backed out of the room. He had things to do, places to be and he had forgotten his own advice.

He made his way down the hall and turned left. He passed the staircase that led to the Slytherin common room and hurried several doors down until he pushed another door open. This one led to dungeons five, a potions lab they’d used in their third and fourth year. He hadn’t liked that one. The seats were arranged in long rows with eight people sitting next to each other – mighty inconvenient if you needed to get ingredients or take the cauldron somewhere. Ron and Hermione were both already inside, watching the Marauders’ Map.

“You almost got caught by Sykes,” Hermione told him blandly as Ron gathered up the map. Harry assumed Sykes to be their fellow prefect, probably a Slytherin, and moved on.

“He’s gone now. Back in the common room. Let’s go,” Ron said. He handed Harry the map as he passed him. It was already set to show the dungeons. 

“Right,” Harry nodded and followed them outside, “so where do we start? I’d say we go deeper.” He frowned at the map. It showed empty classrooms and many storage rooms, but nothing that could be used as a cell. He flipped to the floor below. The map showed about a third the amount of rooms than there were on this floor, but that was likely because most of the floor were dorms. Still nothing cell-like.

“Do you think he’d put them on the same floor as the Slytherins?” Ron asked without a single touch of disbelief in his voice.

Harry shrugged non-committally and took the lead. Yes, he did think Dumbledore would put the captured Death Eaters on the same floor on as the Slytherin students. He had placed a Cerberus in the literal middle of the school and told everyone about it.

They took the stairs into the lowest level of Hogwarts. Well, the Chamber of Secrets was possibly even lower, but Harry wouldn’t put his hand in the fire for that. He huddled into his cloak. His breath was rising from his mouth in a fog. He glanced down onto the map again and picked a direction away from where the common room was. They walked past several storage rooms and a hallway that supposedly led to nowhere.

Out of sheer curiosity, Harry entered a room labelled Duelling room. They found themselves in a large room with a raised platform in the middle. It was similar to what the professors had created in the Great Hall back in their second year, when Lockhart had tried to restart the duelling club.

“Why don’t we have practical defence here?” Ron wondered, looking around.

“Probably because only two people can fight at once here,” Harry said. The platform left no place for anything else than watching and unlike Black’s wards, it couldn’t be removed and raised again as needed.

They backed out of the room and carried on, one eye on the map at all times. They came across a room only labelled _Dungeon thirteen_ , but, much like before, there was no telling what it may have once been used for – not even with the visible dent in the floor that most assuredly was not there by design.

They left the room and stopped to confer. “I’d say they are not-” Ron began saying, but Hermione interrupted him immediately.

“Where does this corridor go? It wasn’t here before.”

Harry followed her eyes to where previously had only been a blank wall. How there was a portal with no door. He stared at the map. It wasn’t there. The corridor wasn’t supposed to exist. He took a tentative step forward and watched in amazement as the dot with his name disappeared from the map. He raised his eyes and looked at his friends.

“Let’s go,” Ron decided, stepping through the doorway. Hermione hesitated a single moment before she nodded resolutely and followed. Harry stuffed the map into his pocket and grasped his wand tighter instead.

The corridor was straight and rather short. It ended with a staircase. Going down. Harry peered from the top stair, trying to see how deep it went. 

“This shouldn’t exist. The castle doesn’t have third level bellow ground,” Hermione muttered.

Harry nodded mutely, while Ron merely snorted. “The castle seems to disagree. I guess we’re asking Selwyn about this?”

“I want to see what’s down there,” Harry said, stepping one step lower. His foot slipped slightly and he grabbed the wall for support. He pulled his hand away fast and stared. The wall was wet, slimy and cold. And slippery. Just like the stairs. He peered down again. They didn’t seem overly long, but they were steep.

“Some horrible way to die, I’m sure,” Ron noted and nudged his shoulder. “Move then. Maybe we’ll find the Death Eaters.”

They descended carefully, holding a hand at the disgusting wall. “I’m not sure if you two remember,” Hermione started conversationally, “but the point was _not_ to find them.”

“So far we’re succeeding,” Harry returned. “I’m far more worried about this looking like a second entrance to the Chamber of Secrets.”

He didn’t need to see Ron to know the grimace he pulled at that. “Don’t say that. I don’t want to see a giant basilisk.”

“It’s dead,” Harry pointed out, thinking back to the carcass that had been rotting for over two years. “You know, I never got the chance to explore the chamber properly.”

“Please tell me you don’t want to return to a nest of a snake that almost killed you and Ginny,” Hermione sighed, the resignation in her voice clear as day.

“I mean, there has to be something there.” He recalled the giant long room with tall pillars and stone snakes wrapped around them. “You haven’t seen it. You don’t build a room like that just to stick a snake inside.”

“I don’t know, mate,” Ron turned to him as they finally reached the bottom, “the guy was bloody bonkers.”

Harry inclined his head, conceding the point. “Still, I’ll at least have some basilisk fangs to toss at Voldemort.” Ron stiffened at the name, but didn’t say anything. Harry clasped his shoulder. “Let’s go.”

The entire floor was one giant maze of short corridors covered in ankle-deep stinking water that got into their shoes. The house elves would be thrilled. There weren’t any rooms either, or at least they couldn’t find them.

“What the fuck is this place for?” Ron huffed after good fifteen minutes of wandering. “There is nothing here.”

Harry was tempted to agree, but Hermione got there first. “Most of this castle’s quirks have no logical explanation,” she grumbled. “I mean the stairs move. What the hell was Ravenclaw thinking?”

“What the hell were the founders thinking sums up this school pretty well, I’d say,” Harry muttered, taking a sharp turn right. He came face to face with an empty wall blocking his way. He narrowed his eyes at it before spinning on his heel and setting off in the opposite direction. There was no system to this floor as far as he could tell and they were lost. They had to be, because that corridor should’ve gone back to the staircase, not a dead end. Even that reminded him of the Chamber of Secrets strongly – that place had miles of tunnels around it. If he didn’t know better he’d say they were in those tunnels.

“This better be worth it,” Ron muttered under his breath and pulled a disgusted face, picking a long green algae from his shoe. He stared at it suspiciously and tossed it back into the water. He wiped his hand on his jeans. 

After what felt like the entire night they came to a door. Harry narrowed his eyes at it. It appeared to be a simple wooden door with a metal handle. Basic. Easy to open. He clutched his wand and pushed it open.

A light from their wands spilt into the corridor beyond, the floor just as covered in water as the other ones. The walls seemed on the verge of falling apart. Harry forced down the disappointment that swelled in his chest. Of course, it was more flooded halls. How was the castle even standing if the base was crumbling? Magic, probably. 

A loud chesty cough erupted from the new corridor. Harry flinched, wand immediately pointed towards the sound. From the corner of his eyes, he saw Ron and Hermione jump and follow suit, Hermione more nervously than Ron. No other sound followed and Harry let his hand drop with a vary look into the darkness. He exchanged looks with his friends and they all turned invisible in their own way. Hopefully the cloak wouldn’t be stained too badly.

They made their way forward as silently as possible while ankle-deep in water and complete darkness. Another coughing fit interrupted them and Harry froze before forcing himself to move again. He took another step forward and-

And suddenly he stood on dry stone in a corridor gently illuminated by a chandelier hung from the ceiling. He stopped and looked behind him incredulously. There was no sign of water or pitch-black maze. Instead he was looking at pleasant hall with suits of armour leading to a staircase up. Impossible. He scowled at the sight. No way. He turned away with an audible huff just as someone – Hermione from the feel of the cloak and the force of impact – bumped into him. “Sorry,” she whispered. He found her hand with his own and squeezed gently, before pulling her forward. He let go when he was sure she was following him.

Harry came to a stop in front of a door – bars. He didn’t see any way to enter the room beyond them. He focused on the inside. It seemed warm and comfortable, fire crackling in the fireplace, window showing the dark sky. There were two beds with heavy duvets, a table, even a sofa and a door that presumably led to a bathroom. One person was asleep in the bed, the other was sitting on a chair, leaning forward, one hand on his chest, the other on his mouth. He coughed again and Harry winced. Perhaps the room wasn’t as warm as it seemed.

Harry tore his gaze away from the man and shuffled to the next set of bars. The room was exactly the same, but this time he recognized one of the men. His grip on the wand tightened, knuckles white. He clenched his jaw. No one could know they were here, he told himself. No one. Then Pettigrew rolled over and Harry got to see the relaxed expression on his face. 

He let out a low hiss and raised his wand. Maybe he could do something small. Just a little gift for the filthy traitor. He tried to think of an appropriate spell. Curse of Bogies sprang to mind. Nasty cold, runny nose, might collapse if left untreated, yes, that would-

A hand touched his back before coming to rest on his shoulder. “Don’t,” Ron whispered to him. “They would know someone was here. It’s not worth it.” Harry set his jaw, glaring holes into Pettigrew. The man’s face scrunched up. Ron pulled on his shoulder. “Come on, let’s leave.”

Harry let himself be pulled away, regretting with every part of his being that he didn’t know any proper curse. He slipped his wand back into his pocket and followed the outline of Ron’s body out of sight of the cells. Hermione bundled up the cloak and Ron dropped the Disillusionment charm. Harry took a moment to compose himself and unclench his jaw. Then he dispelled the illusion. He smiled at Ron tightly with a single nod of his head. Without a word, he led them down the corridor, mind reeling. 

He had been ready to use Dark Magic. Not in fight to defend himself or others like Black was teaching them. No, just to maim someone. To hurt. He felt light-headed and nauseated. His fingers curled into fists. He didn’t even regret it.

He started walking up the stairs. Was he a bad person? He was a… well, a hero, for the lack of better word. He shouldn’t be thinking about cursing someone. He shouldn’t wish to cause pain. 

He passed a landing and continued up. What did that say about-

Landing? He stopped staring at the stairs in front of him. How? He turned around and looked upon the corridor running to the cells, mind blank. He searched out first Ron’s then Hermione’s gaze. “How?” he asked through the lump in his throat. There was no need to be more specific.

They shrugged helplessly with resigned and exhausted expressions. A quick tempus told Harry it was almost two in the morning. They had been lost in the lowest level for two hours. He scoffed and continued up the stairs, pushing the door open. 

They came into a seventh-floor corridor, near The Fat Lady’s portrait. He turned again to see which door it was, but found himself facing an open corridor. Startled, he walked a few steps between Ron and Hermione, through where the door should be. 

There were no door. No passage into the dungeons. They exchanged looks, silently agreeing to never speak of this again. Ridiculous. This castle was ridiculous.

They made their way back to their dorms, only stopping long enough to turn invisible so The Fat Lady wouldn’t know who they were – she was horrible at recognizing voices.

Harry slumped onto his bed, unclasping his cloak and dispelling the illusion again. He needed to write to Sirius, he needed to figure out what the hell was wrong with him, but most of all he needed to sleep and not think about any of it again. 

He lifted his hands and stared at them. What had got into him? He resolved never to mention it to anyone. That was it. He would forget about it. That can’t have been him anyway, could it? The little voice in his head was insistent it had. He gulped and gasped for breath, pulling himself into sitting position. He stared at his hands again. He curled them into fists to hide the shaking. He closed his eyes. Good Merlin, he still wanted to hurt him. He took a deep breath and forced it out of his mind. Later. He could deal with it later. 


	17. All Hallows’ Eve

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Everything always goes to shit on Halloween - even if sometimes it´s not immediately obvious.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Some of you have been in 2021 for hours, some of you still have a few more to go, but regardless, Happy New Year to all of you! May it be less of a shitshow than 2020 was.
> 
> This is another "bonus" chapter, I´m so kind, aren´t I? December is a nightmare for these. Anyway, the typical ´possibly shoddy Latin´ warnings apply. No one´s complained yet, so that´s nice.

Harry jerked awake with a strangled yell. He slapped a hand on his mouth before he even registered where he was. He stared at the ceiling, breath coming out in short shallow gasps. It was hot in the dorms and he was shaking all over. His blanket was probably on the ground, kicked away earlier in the night.

“Alright there, mate?” Ron’s sleepy voice cut through the shrill laugher that still echoed in his brain. Harry forced his breath to slow down, inhaling deeply. The phantom green light of the killing curse flashed behind his eyelids.

“Yeah,” he let out with one of the exhales. “Just a nightmare. Go back to sleep,” he added after a second’s hesitation. 

A brief pause followed; then Ron rolled over with a muttered: “Alright then.” Harry sighed in relief and closed his eyes. Seamus’ consistent snoring was making it hard to focus on anything and he was glad for it. He did not want to think about a lot of things.

He waited until he was fairly certain Ron had fallen asleep again and reached for his glasses. He sat up, slouched and ran a hand through his hair. He glared at the alarm clock telling him it was half-past three. Way too early to be up. 

He picked up the blanket and dumped it onto his bed before getting up. Grabbing his robes, he headed for the showers. The water ran cold, too early for it to had been warmed up, and it woke him up properly. He passed the mirror without a proper glance, well aware of how he looked – hair a hopeless mess and the scar glowing violent red after the nightmare.

Getting his bag from the dorm first, he made his way into the common room. He’d be in some serious trouble if one of the prefects caught him, but they would first need to be awake for that. One quick illusion spell later, he slipped out of the Gryffindor tower, leaving a very disgruntled Fat Lady behind. The Marauders’ Map told him no one else in the entire castle was awake. Lucky them.

“Follow us, our lovely song, know that we can do no wrong,” he chanted to the Bavarian Erklings in the tapestry and watched it fade away. Behind it, Selwyn looked… awake. More awake than the portraits usually did at night, making Harry wonder why they even slept – or pretended to. Portraits can’t need to sleep.

“Bit early to be wandering the halls, isn’t it?” the man asked, raising one eyebrow. He swung open, letting him in before Harry could muster a response.

He waited for Selwyn to close the door before he dropped the spell. He tossed the bag on the ground and sunk into the armchair. The fire in the fireplace was crackling happily, casting long shadows around the room while bringing comforting warmth.

“You seem to have taken to the spell very well,” the portrait noted into the silence. Harry could feel his eyes on him.

“I suppose,” he shrugged with one shoulder. He twirled his wand between his fingers absently. “It’s not a difficult spell.”

“Your friends would disagree.” Something in his voice made Harry look at him. There was consideration there, his eyes slightly narrowed, head tilted to the side, lips pursed ever so slightly. Harry narrowed his eyes back.

“What do you want?”

Selwyn grinned lightly. “Oh, no. No, no, I don’t  _ want _ anything. I’m just thinking...” he trailed off deliberately.

Harry waited with a frown on his face. “About?” he prompted, giving up. No point playing the waiting game with a portrait. 

Selwyn ran his eyes over him one more time, assessing. “Illusion magic can be very useful. Especially if one has the talent for it.”

“And you think I have the talent.” Harry didn’t need it said aloud. He’d seen that look Selwyn had before. Back in that first practical lesson with Black that year. The previous year with fake Moody. It was the look Snape would give to some of his Slytherins in Potions.

“I know you do. You managed the invisibility spell at first try.”

“The book said it was simple,” Harry pointed out. It only required the basic knowledge of occulumency and, apparently, good imagination.

“Perhaps,” Selwyn conceded, “but do humour me.”

Harry hesitated for all of two seconds before shrugging. “Alright.” He sat up straight, raising his eyebrows at the portrait. His wand slipped into his palm properly. The grin on Selwyn’s face was almost predatory.

“Have you read anything about Illusion magic aside that one chapter?” At Harry’s shake of the head, he explained: “You can influence the mind directly, or by putting something between it and whatever it is receiving. You don’t know legilimency, so you’re going to have to make do with the latter.” He gestured at the table. “See that candle? You can turn it invisible – give the impression of it not being there. You do this by putting a spell over it, a sort of barrier that the mind perceives before it sees the candle. You can do the same thing in reverse. Put a spell on a spot and make the mind think something is there, when it isn’t. This kind of an illusion, however, will break if someone attempts to interact with it. Because of that, it is often paired with charms that stop people from paying attention to the object.”

Harry cocked his head, staring at the candle. He could imagine it being useful, but his mind was more focused on the idea of making one thing appear as something completely different. Like his invisibility cloak as a normal one, or the books from Sirius as textbooks.

“Try it,” Selwyn ordered after a pause.

Harry whipped his head around. “I don’t know the incantation.”

Selwyn curled his lips into a very deliberate sneer. “You don’t need an incantation to do magic,” he declared. “Nor do you need a wand movement, regardless of what the books tell you. Not even a wand, but that is more difficult.”

“Wordless magic is difficult,” Harry muttered. “At least tell me how to do it without the incantation.”

“Want,” Selwyn said with a roll of his eyes. “If you want enough, it will happen.”

“Are you sure you were a teacher?” Harry asked, narrowing his eyes at the portrait. Even he could come up with a better explanation if he wanted people to learn something. Probably.

“I am sure I was not,” Selwyn responded airily. “That was Sal’s job.”

Harry huffed out a laugh. “And how was he at it?”

“No one’s ever complained. Except Myrddin. But Myrddin complained about everything.” Harry decided not to react to that assessment of Merlin the Great’s character, mostly because he could feel the headache it would bring. He turned to the candle.

“Want. Right.” He took a deep breath and stared at the candle, before hesitating. “Will it… does the illusion affect me?”

“Naturally. It is possible to learn to see through it if you know what you are looking for and are good enough at occlumency.”

Harry focused. It was a normal white candle, as thick as his wrist and maybe six inches tall. He wanted there to be more than one of them. He frowned and imagined a second one, right next to the real one. He could almost see it standing there. The knot was a bit curled at the very end. He fingered the wand. He had the image, but what now? He pointed the wand at the space where he wanted it, keeping the idea in his mind. What to do, what to do? Candle. One more candle. He needed the second candle.

He jabbed the wand forward hesitantly. Nothing happened. He frowned. He wanted the candle. What more did his magic want from him? He tried again. And again. And again. Nothing happened. Wrinkles creased his forehead and he stabbed the empty spot on the table aggressively.

Something inside of him moved and shot into his wand. He shuddered violently and pulled back, almost dropping his wand. There was a second candle on the table. Just like the one he’d imagined.

“I’m never doing that again,” he said, but his eyes were glued to the candle. “Did I… Did I do it?”

“Incantations ease the process of accessing your magic,” Selwyn explained. “Try picking it up. I think you may have conjured it.”

Harry reached forward hesitantly. His fingers brushed against the wax. It was solid. He grabbed it and lifted it off the table, glancing at Selwyn. 

“You conjured it. That’s… impressive, actually.”

“I didn’t want to conjure it,” Harry said.

“Well,” Selwyn shrugged, “there is a very thin line between wanting an illusion and wanting the real thing. Most people...” he trailed off. “Most people don’t manage to conjure anything on the first try. You must have some sort of a gift for it.”

“Unlikely,” Harry murmured, recalling what Black had said about Potter line’s trouble with delicate magic. Perhaps his mother? Too bad he didn’t know about anyone who would know-

-That was wrong. He did. Sirius would. And – a lot more likely – Lupin. He’d said they were friends.

“Right so… what did I do wrong?”

***

A long time ago, Harry had learnt not to question the purpose of some – most – of the spells taught in Transfiguration. When he found himself staring at a little chubby brown and white bird with a red patch on its face he second-guessed it again. Next to him, Ron’s significantly more yellow goldfinch was protesting being trapped in a cage loudly.

A goldfinch. Into a Golden Snitch. He pinched the bridge of his nose. Why did anyone need to turn a goldfinch specifically into a Snitch? Why had someone bothered to come up with an incantation? They had probably had way too much time on their hands.

He stopped twirling his wand and held it loosely between his fingers. “Carduelis mutati,” he ordered, performing the correct movement. It was a stupid incantation. Even with his non-existent knowledge of Latin, he could tell it left too much to intent. If Carduelis stood for the bird, then it meant:  _ change the goldfinch. _

He tried again, picturing the Snitch in his head like he would with illusion magic – not that he had gotten that work. After an hour of attempting he’d called it a day and Selwyn had agreed. No one had ever achieved anything by sheer bullheadedness.

His cheat seemed to work, as, instead of a bird, there was Snitch in the cage. Harry tilted his head and opened the door, grabbing the thing in his hand. It felt lighter than real Snitches did.

“Mr Potter,” there was an undeniable surprise in McGonagall’s voice, “very well done. Five points to Gryffindor.”

Harry thanked her, but he doubted she heard it over the whispers that arose from his classmates. Ron congratulated him briefly, before going back to his own bird with focused creases on his forehead. 

“How did you do it?” asked Hermione. She eyed the Snitch fluttering in his hand suspiciously.

Harry rubbed the back of his neck with his wand still between his fingers. “I- Well, kind of like I did the In- The other spell. I just imagined the result and voilà.” He sighed at her doubtful look. “I’m really bad at explaining this.”

“No, no,” she shook her head, “I just can’t do that. I don’t… see pictures, exactly, when I imagine things.”

Harry cocked his head. “At all?” He pictured a ball in his head quickly, just to make sure. He could see it. Even turn it around and look from different sides.

Hermione just shook her head. “No. My parents can. It’s strange. I can’t  _ see,  _ but there is this… almost pressure at the back of my mind. Like the picture is there, not just the concept, but I can’t… quite reach it. Or something.” She smiled ruefully. “Now I am the one bad at explaining. It doesn’t matter. Still, nice.” She gestured at the Snitch.

“It’s too light,” Harry told her. “But thanks.”

He leaned back, propping his leg against the edge of his desk and yawned. His eyes closed by themselves, the voices of his classmates blurring together. He shook himself and forced them open with another stifled yawn. He glared at his lap, before eyeing the Snitch. It had stopped fluttering its wings and straining in his palm. He opened it curiously, bringing it closer to his face to inspect. It took off suddenly.

He scrambled in his seat, hand shooting forward to grab the escaping spell-work. His fingers closed around the golden ball. “Please, Mr Potter, leave that for the quidditch match,” McGonagall warned with a strangely exasperated expression. Harry fought down the blush and nodded. He stuffed the Snitch inside the cage and sat back.

About an eternity later, the bell went off, announcing the end of the lesson. Harry quickly packed his quill and books and headed out of the room, before McGonagall could remember to assign homework. 

They made their way straight into the Great Hall, grabbing their usual seats far away from everyone. Harry sat with his back to the window, having no wish to face the terrible weather outside. The Care of Magical Creatures would be inside again if the downpour was anything to go by.

“I’ve never noticed,” Ron muttered out of nowhere. Harry glanced at him as he gestured around vaguely. “I’m just wondering… when do they decorate this place? The feast is in a few hours.”

“Probably while we’re in class.” Harry shrugged. “I’m much more concerned about what is going to happen tonight.”

Both Ron and Hermione stared at him with blank expressions. “What is going to happen tonight?” they asked, exchanging a look.

Harry shrugged, throwing his hands up. “How should I know? It’s not like the disasters are predictable in any way. Just think up the most random, stupid thing you can and it’s going to come true tonight.”

They exchanged another look, before sending him identical stares of consternation. He rolled his eyes. “Seriously, it’s Halloween.” Understanding dawned on Hermione’s face, but Ron was still lost. “Everything always goes to shit on Halloween,” Harry reminded him.

Ron winced at the memories, immediately followed by a pained grimace and scrunched face. “True,” he agreed in a strained voice. He opened his mouth to say something more when a tall boy appeared in Harry’s field of vision and he turned to look at him. Ron shut his mouth again, following his gaze.

“I don’t think I want to know what you need these for,” the seventh-year Kenneth Towler said, dropping a small pouch on the table, but not lifting his hand from it. Hermione slid it into her bag and he stood up straight.

“Probably not, no,” she told him with a smile and he scoffed.

“It’s all of them,” he said with a deep exhale. “If you need more, you’ll have to find them somewhere else.” He walked off, leaving the three alone again. They exchanged an excited look. They would have the privacy cubes. Soon.

“Plotting again?” Neville asked, taking a seat at Harry’s side. His eyebrow was raised gently, a small smirk tugging on his lips. He filled his plate with roasted chicken and potatoes, completely ignoring the salad meant to go with it.

“Always,” Harry replied with a grin of his own. “I wrote to your father,” he changed the topic seamlessly.

“Oh?” Neville asked around a mouthful of chicken. He gulped it down. “Did he write back?”

Harry shook his head. “He’s busy, isn’t he?”

“Well, yeah. Not too busy to respond though.” Neville frowned. He chewed on the potatoes, deep in thought.

“You don’t think someone is stealing your letters again, do you?” Ron said into the uncomfortable silence.

Harry hesitated in cutting another piece of fish. “They’d better not be,” he declared lowly.

“Again?”

“Oh, yeah,” Harry said cheerfully, “the summer after our first year. A house-elf stole letters from Ron and Hermione before they reached me. It’s the same elf who tried to save my life by knocking me off my broom with a Bludger.”

Neville looked between the three of them at a loss of words. “He… what elf was that?”

“He was just trying to help,” Hermione muttered and turned from them slightly.

“I’m not saying he didn’t, but he could’ve chosen any other way, Hermione. Like last year. The gillyweed? That was useful! Trying to kill me himself? Not so much!” Hermione pointedly looked away from him. Harry huffed and turned to Neville. “Dobby. He used to belong to the Malfoys. I tricked Lucius into releasing him.”

Neville huffed out a laugh. “I’m not even going to ask.”

“It wasn’t that difficult,” Harry grinned, before frowning. “I don’t think he was very happy about it though.” Neville and Ron both laughed.

“Must have stung, being outwitted by a twelve-year-old,” Neville agreed, still chuckling. They lapsed into companionable silence after that, occasionally giggling at the image of Lucius Malfoy’s outraged face. It was a good day. Too good, for the date.

***

“Pawn to C2,” Ron ordered his chess piece with a smug smirk. Harry eyed the board with narrowed eyes, ignoring the insults thrown his way with the ease of years-long practice. His king dropped the sword and threw his crown down angrily. Harry groaned. Fifth time in a row.

“Can we play something else?” he asked, letting his head drop at the backrest. “Cards or something.” He closed his eyes. They’d been playing cards continuously the entire weekend and he was sick of the exploding, but at least he knew he could win occasionally. “Does the wizarding world have any other board games at all?”

“Sure. Most are for children, though.” Harry cracked his eyes open to stare at Ron. He was packing up the chess set to the insistent cursing of the pieces.

“There’s gotta be something,” Harry opposed. No way magical Britain didn’t have any game fit for teenagers. How did people amuse themselves in this world? He thought back to his holidays at the Burrow. They’d either played quidditch, Exploding Snap, talked, did homework or Mrs Weasley kept them busy in the garden. At no point had they played any proper game.

“I mean there are, but no one brings them to school.” Ron thought for a moment. “There are some played with the Tarot deck, but we don’t have that.”

“You take divination, but don’t have a Tarot deck?” Selwyn asked, tutting. No one paid him any mind.

“Bill taught me a game he learned from the Egyptians, but… I don´t actually remember it well enough to play, let alone teach.”

Harry closed his eyes. “Bugger.” He snorted to himself. “We could play hide and seek.”

“Yeah, but only in the flooded nightmare under the castle since someone here has a cheat map.” 

Harry attempted to kick his friend and failed spectacularly, kicking the table instead.

“Flooded nightmare?” Selwyn questioned. “Under the castle?” He leaned forward in his chair and for a moment it looked as if he would simply step out of the painting.

“Oh yeah, that’s apparently a thing now.” Ron waved his hand dismissively. “The bottom part of the dungeons – the floor that shouldn’t even exist – is flooded.”

“Dungeons or basement?”

“Dungeons.”

Selwyn hummed and sat back, massaging his chin. “Sal’s part, then. You say the second floor is flooded? I wonder how that happened.”

“Third.”

Selwyn froze in the middle of the motion, gaze snapping at Harry. “I beg your pardon?”

“Third floor,” Harry repeated, tilting his head. “Under the Slytherin common room.”

The man narrowed his eyes into a tight frown. “You shouldn’t be able to get to the bottom floor. How did you?”

Harry exchanged an uneasy look with Ron. He rubbed the back of his neck. “Uhm… A staircase kind of just appeared out of nowhere?”

“Just appeared?”

Harry and Ron nodded earnestly. Selwyn watched them for a while before relaxing into his chair. “Odd. I suggest you don’t go looking for it again. It may not end well.”

“What is it?” Harry asked, finally turning to face the portrait properly.

Selwyn raised his head higher and pursed his lips. “Something very few should be able to access. That you have done so on an accident is… concerning.”

“But why?” Ron asked. “What is that place?”

The portrait shook his head. “That is not for me to-”

He was interrupted by a loud hiss from where Hermione was working on enchanting the tin cubes. Harry snapped his eyes towards the sound just in time to see Hermione hastily scrambling from the table. Not a moment later loud explosion rang out, coating the table and everything on and around it in a silvery-white dust. Hermione sneezed twice, rubbing her nose.

“The hell?” Ron exclaimed, getting up. Harry followed, eyes taking in the scorch mark on the table.

Before Hermione could respond, Selwyn, now decisively amused, noted: “That is what happens if you attempt enchanting outside protective circles.”

Harry turned to glare at him. “You couldn’t have mentioned that earlier?” The portrait merely shrugged, prompting a more furious scowl on Harry’s face. “How do we make this circle then?” he demanded. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Ron shake his head and stalk to the window, staring out.

“You don’t. That’s for rune-masters. And no,” he threw a stern look at Hermione, “taking Ancient Runes class doesn’t make you a rune-master.” He paused slightly. “There should be an old enchanting classroom, however, and the tables in there should have the circle you need.”

Harry narrowed his eyes, mentally travelling the castle. He couldn’t recall any suspicious classroom with runes carved into the tables. “Where exactly is it?”

Selwyn shrugged. “How should I know, the castle does what it wants.”

“So we have to track down a classroom now? One that likely hasn’t been used in centuries?” Ron asked, sarcasm thick in his voice. “Great.”

“What does it look like?” Hermione questioned, ignoring him. She sneezed again.

“Bless you. Last time I checked the desks were in a U-shape and the board took up most of the front wall.”

Ron scowled. “I have never-”

“I know where it is,” Harry interrupted. “I hid in there a few days ago. It’s in the dungeons.”

“Dungeons?” Selwyn hummed, rubbing his chin. “I suppose that makes sense.”

“Does it?” Hermione opposed. “Wouldn’t you want light while carving spells into objects? So you can see what you’re doing?”

“It used to be on the fourth floor. The castle is probably stacking unused classrooms in the dungeons. The ones that students could hurt themselves if they messed with something they shouldn’t.”

“Like runic circles?” Hermione asked and received a nod. Harry himself had no idea what was so dangerous about a circle of runes, but he wasn’t taking the class on runes, so he’d stay out of it.

Hermione turned to him. “You remember where the classroom is, yes?”

“I’ll take you there – or show you on the map, but I think we should head for the feast.”

Hermione cast one look at her wristwatch and nodded. “Saturday, then? After the game.”

“There’s gonna be a party,” Ron pointed out, already moving towards the door.

“Only if we win and I’d much rather not be there,” Harry told him, falling in step with his taller friend. He pulled on the collar of his shirt. Why did they have to be in uniform at feasts anyway?

“But alcohol,” Ron whined, prompting a snort out of Harry.

“You mean butterbeer. That is about as alcoholic as liquor truffles.” He sighed. “Besides, we can grab a few bottles and fuck off.” He ignored Hermione tutting at him for the language and pushed open the door to the Great Hall.

His eyes took it all in. The pumpkins hovering above the tables, the bats swooping through the air – they probably weren’t real bats but he wouldn’t bet on it. The ghosts were in attendance too, even if most just hovered around the edges of the room. The teachers’ table was full, even Binns and Trelawney had come. Dumbledore was watching from his throne-like chair in the middle, eyes twinkling, putting on a very good show of not seeing McGonagall pointedly ignoring him. Beltaine stood out, as always, in his traffic cone orange robes. The ministry woman was there as well, just as pink as always. Harry didn’t like her expression.

He led the way to the Gryffindor table, already fairly full. Ginny and Neville had claimed seats that would separate Harry from the rest of his house. He sank into the last seat of the table, back to the window and nodded gratefully at them. Ron sat down opposite of him and Hermione next to Ron. There was a free seat left next to her. She dropped her bag in it.

“Let’s get this over with,” Harry muttered and leaned back in his seat. Neville and Ron both threw him amused looks.

“You don’t want to be here, do you?” Neville noted.

“I hate Halloween,” Harry shrugged, “and I hate these people.” He gestured down the table. He rubbed his temples and sighed deeply. “And all the food is going to be cakes.”

“Cakes good,” Ginny told him with a grin. “They are sweet and unhealthy and tasty.” She blew him a kiss.

Harry rolled his eyes. “I’d like some actual food and  _ then _ sweets, okay?”

“I happen to agree,” Hermione said, nodding. “And it’s not because my parents are dentists.” Harry snorted, but the joke was lost on everyone else. Neville inclined his head, however.

“I too would prefer dinner, but… well, nothing can be done. I’ll have to stick to carrot cake.” He did not sound thrilled about the prospect. 

“You are weird,” Ron shook his head.

“I think you two are the odd ones out.” Hermione pointed at him and Ginny. “Given how there’s three of us and only two of you.”

A loud clinking of a spoon against a goblet carried through the hall, silencing the students as they looked at the head table. Dumbledore rose from his seat, opening his arms.

“Good evening and welcome to the annual Hallowe’en feast! Tonight we honour our ancestors beyond the veil.” He spoke mostly to the first-year muggleborns. “Some of you may feel something off, but do not worry. The veil between the worlds is thin and will be getting thinner as the night progresses. The dead may seek out those they’ve left behind. Though you cannot see them, know that they can see you. They can hear you. If no other time, tonight I advise you: take heed and speak no ill of the dead. But enough talking from me now, let us eat!”

The platters and bowls before Harry filled with cakes, sweets and juice. One particular bowl seemed to contain ice cream, and Harry reconsidered his decision to just get some treacle tart and be done with it. Ron noticed his look and grinned.

“What happened to too much sweets?” he asked as Harry caved and loaded one of the smaller bowls with the ice cream.

“It’s ice cream, that’s different,” he defended and grabbed a spoon. 

Ron snorted and picked a piece of a chocolate cake. “If you say so, mate.” Harry scowled and tossed a single bean from one of the goblets at him. It hit him in the chest and dropped into his lap. He completely ignored him, carrying on: “Anyway, I’m more amazed nothing’s gone to shit yet.”

Ginny groaned. “Ronald! You’ve jinxed it!”

“I have not! We know something’s going to hell, we just don’t know what!”

“Wait a few minutes,” Hermione said, rolling her eyes. “it’s going to come eventually.”

Neville glanced between the four of them in confusion. Ron took a breath to explain, but he held up one hand. “I don’t want to know. Seriously, I just… I want no part in whatever is going to hell.”

Ginny giggled. “Too late,” she told him, patting his shoulder. “You’ve signed your death warrant the moment you’ve started hanging out with Harry.”

“I beg your pardon?” Harry snapped at her playfully. “You speak as if this is my fault.”

“Isn’t it?”

“No, it’s not! I am as much a victim as anyone else here!” He threw up his hands when Ron and Hermione started laughing. “Traitors, both of you.”

The banter continued in similar vein for a while, but Harry retreated from the conversation again. He let his eyes wander the hall as they willed and took in the students he knew. At the Gryffindor table he found the rest of the quidditch team huddled together with Lee. Nandini was engaged in a conversation with Wax and Suri. McLaggen and Benjamin Dunbar had their heads together. Towler sat with another boy from their year discussing something with two sixth-year girls.

His eyes moved to the Hufflepuff table next to them. Susan and Hannah were talking loudly with Leanne and Macmillan. Denholm and her friend – Harry still wasn’t sure which name was the surname – were trying to keep a parchment from sight and doing a terrible job of it. Over at the Ravenclaw table, Luna sat alone, reading Quibbler, while Lisa and Mandy were entertaining the boys. Cho was speaking to another girl in her year.

Harry hesitated before moving on to the Slytherin table at the opposite end of the hall. From the distance, it was hard to recognize anyone, but he did find Malfoy’s bleached blond hair. Pansy was leaning on his side, her head on his shoulder. She seemed tired, or maybe just bored. He thought he found Nott who, much like Luna, was reading, although he seemed to have a thick tome instead of a magazine – newspaper. His friends – Harry assumed it was them, anyway – were talking about something. Very few people by that table seemed to be eating, mostly the younger years. Harry wondered if they had found a way to get proper food into their common room and tried not to be jealous if they had.

He turned his attention back to his friends and rubbed the back of his neck absently, scratching along his spine. It was as if someone was staring at his back. He didn’t turn. No one was staring at his back. It was just that night making him feel odd. It had happened before.

The conversation was now firmly in the holidays plans section. At least a month early, but for once Harry didn’t mind. He’d be staying with Sirius. It brought a smile to his face. No more Dursleys ever again. He could not wait. Being able to rub the Ministry’s mistake into everyone’s faces was just an icing on that particular cake.

The evening passed uneventfully – too uneventfully – and Harry exchanged a worried look with Ron. The feast was about to end. Harry didn’t allow himself to believe nothing would happen. He’d learned his lesson with misplaced hope.

People were beginning to stir. The younger students had their heads propped up in their hands or were lying on the table. The conversations were beginning to hush as people itched to get back into the common rooms. The feast had started at the same time the Welcoming feast had – several hours after dinner was normally served – and ran even later than the Welcoming feast. Students were tired and tomorrow were classes.

Dumbledore rose from his seat again. Harry exchanged another anxious look with Ron. The murmur around them was silenced immediately as everyone wanted to get out. Dumbledore smiled.

“I see you are growing restless.” The twinkle in his eyes was at full force, but none of the professors looked exactly happy. McGonagall was stiff, her lips pursed. Sprout didn’t bother hiding her irritation as she glared at the headmaster with clenched jaw. Ever-energetic Flitwick was tapping his fingers impatiently. Black – the professor best at controlling himself – was narrowing his eyes at Dumbledore. What had happened during the feast? Had Harry missed something? He cursed himself for not paying attention to the teachers.

“I will not keep you here much longer,” Dumbledore continued, wilfully oblivious to the amount of people trying to set him on fire. “But there is something you should all hear.”

Harry exchanged another look with Ron, this time back to worried. “Here we go,” Hermione whispered. But Dumbledore merely gestured for Umbridge to take his place. Harry narrowed his eyes.

“Merlin, no,” Neville prayed next to him. Harry glanced at him to see his face had taken on a frustrated expression crossed with resigned. Then Umbridge began to speak and Harry vowed to pay attention this time.

“Good evening, children. I have been here for two months now. Two months of watching, studying, listening and evaluating,” she started in the sweet voice that made Harry want to strangle her. Suddenly the irked looks at the head table made a lot more sense. “You know it was my duty to make sure all of your professors were up to Ministry standards. Unfortunately, that is not so.”

“She is not going to fire them right here, right now,” Hermione hissed, outraged. Harry feared that was exactly what the toad was going to do.

“We have originally planned to put such professors on probation for a few weeks to see if they were capable of improving and performing to our standards. However, after witnessing the situation, I cannot, in good conscience, allow this. The professors who have been found lacking will be replaced as soon as a replacement can be found. I assure you, the search has already started. At latest you should have adequate teachers by the beginning of the new term-”

“Who is going to be replaced?” someone down the Gryffindor table yelled, interrupting her. Harry could happily strangle whoever it was. His friends glared at their classmates as one. The second-years next to Ginny flinched and moved away from them.

Umbridge smiled at the Gryffindor table and Harry felt the sudden urge to sit elsewhere. McGonagall sent a murderous glare at a specific person and Harry could see her mutter something. Twenty points drained from the house cup counter.

“I’m afraid one of your core professors – Mr Binns – and Mrs Trelawney for Divination will have to be replaced.” Whispers swept through the room. Harry wasn’t sure what to do. Binns and Trelawney. He agreed they were terrible teachers. He agreed they should be replaced. He agreed with the Ministry. He wasn’t sure what to do with that. He supposed everyone had to be right sometimes, even if by pure chance. 

He glanced at the two aforementioned professors. Binns didn’t seem to have noticed anything amiss. Trelawney was clutching a fork in her hand. Harry wouldn’t be surprised if she stabbed her in Umbridge’s back. Her face was a picture of pure fury and embarrassment.

“Furthermore,” Umbridge started again, forcing their attention back to herself, “I am very sorry to inform you, that the Ministry will be forced to replace the headmaster as well as Mr Dumbledore has… fallen behind on performing his duties to the school.”

The room fell into a stunned silence. Fire Dumbledore. The Ministry wanted to sack Albus Dumbledore. Unthinkable.

“I think we found your disaster,” Neville muttered. Harry nodded mutely. That was not the kind he’d been expecting, but… it was bad. Probably. He wasn’t sure what would happen if Dumbledore was replaced.

“What about the Hogwarts Charter?” Someone asked and Harry recognized the voice as belonging to Lisa. “The Ministry can’t fire anyone.”

Umbridge turned to her with a smile, but it was frosty. “The Wizengamot has found the Charter to be… obsolete.”

“I doubt that,” Neville whispered. “The lords know of the repercussions.” Similar sentiments filled the hall from all sides, most strongly from the Slytherin and Ravenclaw tables.

“Does Fudge?” he asked, eyes glued to the head table. People around them had already started to rise to their feet, leaving the hall without being let go by the headmaster. Umbridge’s face took on a shocked and outraged expression. Other professors merely looked amused and maybe a little pleased or smug. Harry noted each house was five points richer.

“Unlikely,” Neville responded. “Should we go?”

Harry exchanged looks with his friends, then looked at the leaving crowd. He recognized some. Susan and Hannah, Lisa and Mandy, Leane and Macmillan, Cho and her friend, Parkinson. “Yeah, let’s go.” He rose from his seat, leading them outside. It barely registered at the back of his mind that the second-years that had sat near them followed him.


	18. Slytherin vs Gryffindor

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is late. I was going to make an elaborate excuse, but I can´t actually be bothered. Essentially, I kept fucking around all day on Sunday and didn´t get around to finishing editing it and now on Monday I got buried under a shitton of studying to be done as the school started again for me. And I also spent good two hours staring blankly at the wall, so there´s that. In other words, I suck.
> 
> Anyway, enjoy the chapter.

“You have got to eat,” Hermione said exasperatedly, shoving Ron’s plate closer to him. It only contained a bit of bacon and a single toast, both untouched. “Harry is eating too, see?” She jerked her thumb in Harry’s direction.

Harry looked up from his own breakfast. “She’s right, Ron. You’re gonna be hungry in the air. Especially if the game drags on again.”

Ron frowned at the food. “At least I’m not going to throw up all over my broom.” He pushed the plate away.

“You are not going to throw up,” Hermione tried to reason with him. “Have you ever?”

“I didn’t know you cared about quidditch that much,” he shot back, completely ignoring her excellent point. He fiddled with a loose string on his shirt.

Hermione huffed. “I don’t care for the game, you dolt.” She turned back to her meal, scooping some more eggs onto her plate. Harry glanced between the two of them and rubbed his forehead.

“You really should eat something,” he told Ron. 

Ron scowled in response and fiddled with a fork instead.

“Trust me, you will play better.”

“I’m not hungry.”

“Yes, you are,” Harry hissed. He fought down the urge to turn his eyes towards the sky. “You just can’t feel it through the stress.” He pushed the plate back towards him. “Eat.”

Ron’s scowl darkened, but he stabbed the bacon. “If I throw up-”

“You won’t throw up, Ronald, good God!” Hermione exploded quietly and slammed her knife onto her plate with far more strength than necessary. The sound was lost in the excitable rumble in the hall. She took a deep breath. “Sorry. I’m just… sorry.”

Harry eyed her crestfallen expression. “Did something happen?”

“No.” She shook her head, denying quickly. “Well, not happened exactly.”

Harry raised his eyebrow to prompt her to continue. Ron stopped eating again to pay attention. Harry frowned at him only to have Ron roll his eyes.

“I- Ugh!” she huffed again, tossing her hair from her face. “It’s stupid. My parents. I forgot to write to them yesterday so I’m going to now, but they are still going to be worried sick.” She made a dismissive gesture with her hand. “And they asked me to come home for Christmas in the last letter. I haven’t been home for that in three years...” Her shoulders slumped. “I just feel like it’s going to be weird.”

“I’m sure they’ll love to see you,” Harry said, trying to console her.

“Of course, they’ll love to see me, Harry. But they don’t…” she huffed out in frustration. “They don’t get anything I’m telling them. Not to mention I literally cannot tell them  _ so much _ or they won’t let me come back...” she trailed off, remembering. “Well, it’s just that. It’s like… like they are not a proper part of my life anymore. I see them for a few weeks every year and when I do I lie to them.” 

Harry briefly reflected on the Dursleys. At least he’d never have to deal with that. He didn’t have any friends he’d have to lie to either, unlike Hermione. Who knew if she still talked to the muggle girl. He rather suspected she didn’t. Ron wisely chose to stay quiet. 

Hermione sighed. “Don’t worry about it. It will work out, somehow. Hopefully.” Her voice was doubtful. Things didn’t tend to just work out for them.

Harry didn’t mention it, instead giving her an encouraging smile. Ron attempted to do the same, but it came out flat and tense, his own anxiety getting in the way.

Harry returned to his breakfast, smile slipping from his face as he shut his eyes, exhausted. He’d seen that door again. He’d almost reached them. He still didn’t know why he wanted them to open so much. Where were the dreams coming from anyway? Those were no usual nightmares. He yawned widely and shook himself. Now was not the time. He had a game to win.

“Harry! Ron!” Angelina called from few seats down, already getting up. She was flanked by Katie and Alicia. “Ready?” she asked snappily, walking towards them. “Let’s go.”

Harry rolled his eyes behind her back. She was just as bad as Oliver had been. Running the team into the ground helped exactly no one’s mood. Not even the captain’s. He smiled at Hermione and left the hall, Ron dragging himself after him.

“Don’t worry too much,” he muttered in his direction, nudging his shoulder. “It’s not that big of a deal.”

“It’s quidditch,” Ron whispered back as if it meant something. It did and Harry shrugged gently.

“If it’s any consolation, Bletchley is a much worse keeper than you,” he settled on saying. They followed the girls outside. Harry eyed the fast darkening sky. “It’s going to rain,” he announced loudly.

“Good!” Alicia yelled back. “Their new beaters can’t fly in rain!”

“I’m honestly surprised Crabbed and Goyle can fly at all,” Harry said. Ron snickered, finally breaking out of his gloomy mood. 

“Maybe Malfoy bought their way in.”

“What, did he buy the team new brooms again?” Harry mocked and they laughed. “I still don’t think he should be playing the seeker. He never spots the Snitch in time. I mean, seriously,  _ I _ am supposed to be the blind one.” He gestured widely at his glasses.

Ron laughed louder as they approached the broom shed. Angelina handed Harry his Firebolt and Ron picked up his new Cleansweep. His eyes brightened at the sight of the broom. They made their way to the Changing Rooms.

“You are here, good!” Angelina barked the moment she opened the door. Harry looked over her shoulder to see Fred and George already inside. They rolled their eyes as one. 

“We were warming the benches for you, ladies,” Fred said, gesturing around.

“Since there is more of you on the team now,” George added. 

“Piss off,” Ron said, pushing his way inside. He eyed his locker suspiciously, pulling it open from a respectable distance.

“Stop it, all of you.” Angelina scowled, entering properly. “Focus on the game.”

“Slytherins haven’t won a game in years, Lina,” George pointed out. “And now they have a worse team than ever.” He wiggled his hand to slip the arm guard on.

Harry opened his locker with a shake of his head. The golden seven and his name on the uniform glittered in the light. He pulled his hoodie and shirt over his head, dropping them onto the bench for the moment.

“Their Chasers are good,” Katie opposed. She pulled her hair back into a tight bun. A single strand of hair fell down her face. She frowned and redid the bun with a muttered swear as she pinched the skin on her wrist with a hair tie.

“What do I hear?” Fred asked, swinging his arm over her shoulders. “Someone is complimenting Slytherins in our Changing Rooms? Blasphemy!”

Harry did his best to ignore the unfolding conversation and pulled on his jersey. The back fell to his ankles, while the front barely reached his waist. He sat down to put on his boots and fight the shin and knee guards into submission. The leather fastening had gone stiff over the summer. He’d have to report it soon.

“Give it a rest, will you?” Katie dug her elbow into Fred’s side and forced him to let go of her. “You can’t deny Warrington, Pucey and Montague are a good team.”

“Too bad their Keeper sucks,” Alicia chimed in, fastening of her arm guards between her teeth.

“He is doing fine against the other houses.” Katie shook her head, pulling on her pants. “No, I think it’s Malfoy who drags them down. He rarely catches the Snitch.”

“That’s because he always sees it too late.” Harry pretended not to see the twins’ outraged looks. He started his routine inspection of his broom.

“Can we not talk about how good you think the Slytherins are?” Fred glared at them.

Harry shot them an unimpressed look. “Identifying the opponents’ strength and weaknesses is a key part of devising a strategy, but sure, let’s not do that. Who needs a good strategy anyway, right?”

“We have a good strategy,” George reminded him, finally sitting down to pull on his boots. 

Harry shrugged in response, unwilling to be the one to point out that no strategy was satisfactory if the team members couldn’t trust each other. And he did not trust the twins to not send a Bludger his way  _ on accident _ . He could avoid it if they did, but it was more work for him. Absently he contemplated letting Malfoy catch the Snitch for once, just to see the looks on their faces. It probably wasn’t worth it.

“You all done dressing?” Angelina glanced at each of them. She grabbed a helmet from the bench and tossed it at Ron. “Good. We will go over our strategy again.”

Harry groaned mentally and exchanged annoyed looks with Ron behind their teammates’ backs. He watched Angelina stand by the chalkboard and schooled his expression before she turned. The strategy was already drawn on it from their practices.

“Katie, Alicia and I will keep the Quaffle out of their hands for as long as we can. It’s not so much about scoring points as it is about not letting them get the damn ball,” she said while the other two girls nodded. Harry agreed with that plan. The Slytherin Chasers were too bloody good to put Ron against in his first-ever official match.

“Ron?” Angelina called on the newest member.

Ron sighed audibly and said, slowly: “I will watch out for Montague who tends to fake his throws. Pucey is straight-forward and usually goes for the left hoop. Warrington usually doesn’t throw, but if he does he gets as close as possible.”

“Good! Fred? George?”

“We make sure none of you gets hit and try to take out Montague and their Beaters,” George explained.

Angelina narrowed her eyes at them. “No fouls, understood? Preferably no broken bones or unconscious people either.”

“Yes, ma’am!” They saluted. 

She pursed her lips but turned away. “Harry?”

Harry rubbed his temples. “Catch the Snitch as soon as possible, pay no mind to anything else.” That had been his strategy for years. Oliver had started it in his first year and they had never really dropped it. He wondered if the previous Seekers had played like that too. Who knew how the current Seekers from other houses were told to play? Cho definitely never went for the Snitch early.

The stands above them groaned with hundreds of students taking their seats. The excited hum flowed down to the Changing Rooms. Harry glanced at Ron. His jaw was set as he strapped the helmet under his chin.

“Get ready,” Angelina ordered, her eyes blazing. “We are here to win.” She stood in front of the door that led onto the pitch. Katie and Alicia stepped behind her. Lee Jordan’s voice rumbled over the pitch, reaching inside the Changing rooms. Harry grabbed his wand from his locker and cast water-repellent charm and unbreakable charm on his glasses.

“WELCOME, everyone, to the FIRST game of the season! Today is time for the most INTENSE game of the year: Slytherin vs… GRYFFINDOR!” The crowds roared. “On the Slytherin team this year we have the old Chasers Montague, Warrington and Pucey! Then there are two new Beaters: Crabbe and Goyle! The captain apparently doesn’t learn from previous mistakes. There is the old Keeper Bletchley and, finally, the Slytherin Seeker – Malfoy! You’d think they’d replace him after so many lost games.”

“JORDAN!” McGonagall’s voice took over for a moment. Harry rolled his eyes and exchanged a look with Ron. They stood at the very back of the line-up together.

“AND ON THE GRYFFINDOR TEAM,” Lee screamed to be heard over the crowd, “we have the beautiful Chasers Johnson, Bell and Spinnet! Go, ladies!” The girls shot onto the pitch with a deafening applause. Harry closed his eyes and mounted his brooms.

“The brilliant redheaded Beater twins – WEASLEY and WEASLEY!” The twins flew out together, followed by cheering, their recent crimes momentarily forgotten. Harry glanced at Ron and nodded. Ron nodded back, gripping the broom of his handle tighter.

“In the role of Keeper we now have the youngest brother of the talented fliers – RON WEASLEY!” Ron took off to make his lap around the pitch, his flight steady. Harry took a deep breath and held his head up proudly. 

“And finally we have the Quidditch prodigy and the Gryffindor miracle Seeker – POTTER!” Harry kicked off without hesitation, barrelling onto the pitch. The wind beat across his face, cold and biting. Cheers thundered in his ears as he flew his lap. A big black dog sat at the bottom of the staff stands, wiggling his tail. Harry smiled and brought his broom to a stop, hovering a few meters above his teammates, across from Malfoy. They locked eyes for a moment, faces hard, both ready to win the game.

“I want to see a clean game,” Madam Hooch said clearly. “From all of you.” She glared pointedly at Montague who nodded. As if. She gestured for them to shake hands and pretended not to see Montague try to squash Angelina’s fingers. The two of them stayed in place while the Keepers made their way to the hoops. The Golden Snitch was released. It zoomed into the distance and Harry lost it almost immediately. Next came the Bludgeons. Harry ducked his head as one came dangerously close to taking it off before the game even started.

“And now the game is about the start!” Lee’s commentary started again. “The referee has the Quaffle-” Harry glanced down to see Madam Hooch give the two captains one last stern look and glaring at all four Beaters. “-Aaaaaaand the Quaffle is in the air, JOHNSON has it and THEY ARE OFF!”

Harry moved a safe distance from the middle of the pitch where it would be the most dangerous. He rose higher, scanning for the Snitch. Across the pitch, Malfoy was doing the same.

“Johnson passes to Spinnet, Spinnet to Bell, Bell back to Spinnet who gives it back to Bell – good job, girls! - Bell readies to throw aaaand- Pucey takes control of the Quaffle!” 

A collective groan rang out from more than a half of the stands. 

“Pucey passes to Warrington – that’s a very long throw – Warrington catches it and passes to Montague who is ready to throw- Oh that’s unpleasant! Fred Weasley just hit his broom with a Bludger and sent him spinning! Bell closes in and reaches for the Quaffle, but Warrington got there first and he’s now speeding away- no, he’s about to throw! He seems to be going for the right hoop, can Ron catch it? Warrington is getting close, he’s throwing and- HE CAUGHT IT, MY FRIENDS! RON WEASLEY CAUGHT THE QUAFFLE THAT’S EXCELLENT NEWS! He passes to Bell and Gryffindor’s in possession again!”

A glittering of something gold caught Harry’s attention. He tensed on the broom, ready to go after it before registering it was merely a golden watch some Ravenclaw had brought to the match. He scowled to himself and vowed to demand they ban anything gold, especially jewellery and watches.

“-Johnson narrowly avoids colliding with Goyle – I know she’s sexy, mate, but-”

“JORDAN!”

“Sorry, professor. Bell has the Quaffle and prepares to throw, she’s alone in the scoring area… Will she make it?” Harry allowed himself a moment to watch the game and found Katie. Montague was barrelling straight at her. She aimed and threw-

“Bletchley won’t get there in time and it’s a- MONTAGUE OUT OF NOWHERE! He snatches the Quaffle out of the air-”

Harry turned away from the game and resumed looking for the Snitch. Normally he’d have spotted it at least once by then. Where could it be? 

Malfoy was flying laps around the pitch. Harry rose higher in the air, eyes systematically scanning the surroundings. Something cold landed at the back of his neck. Then his hand, then in his hair. He looked up.

“It appears to be raining now, ladies and gentlemen, let’s see how the new players brave the wet brooms-”

“Jordan...” McGonagall sighed into the microphone.

“Terribly sorry, professor. Warrington enters the scoring area and passes back to Montague, Montague overtakes him and throws left- no right and OH NO! Montague scores! It’s thirty-zero for SLYTHERIN! Better luck next time, Ron.”

Harry glanced at Ron just in time to see him kick one of the posts angrily. He spared a look at the girls too. Angelina’s expression was positively terrifying.

“The Quaffle is in the air again! Spinnet takes possession-”

The rain intensified. It came down in a shower-like quality, obscuring the vision. Harry glared up at the clouds. It would be difficult to spot the Snitch without any sunlight for it to reflect. That had never been a problem before, but- He ducked to the side to avoid a Bludger and glared at Goyle. 

Moments later Pucey flew right past him, second Bludger hot on his heels. Crabbe turned up immediately, hitting the metal ball straight at Harry. Harry rolled to the side and moved to a safer spot. The game went on.

“GRYFFINDOR SCORES!” Lee yelled out happily. “IT’S FORTY-TEN FOR SLYTHERIN! I KNEW YOU STILL HAD IT IN YOU ANGELINA, MY LOVE, MY JOY, THE LIGHT OF MY LIFE!”

“JORDAN I SWEAR-” McGonagall’s voice faded as Lee presumably moved out of her reach. 

“What’s that? Malfoy seems to have spotted the Snitch!” Harry whirled around and stared at where Malfoy was racing straight down with an outstretched hand. Right then he spotted something gold glitter to his right. He took the risk and glanced at it. The Snitch! He pressed his chest to the broom and pushed it to go as fast as possible.

“Potter seems to have spotted it too, but in a different place! Are they playing with two Snitches?”

The Snitch flew into the stands and Harry pulled up. He looked around, but it was gone, hidden between the people. He huffed and returned to hovering over the pitch. Malfoy eased his pace bellow him and took to rising in a wide spiral. He probably wouldn’t try to fool him into following again.

Even over the crowd, Harry could hear the cry of pain, followed by a sharp whistle from Madam Hooch. He froze in the air, eyes jumping between the other players. A foul? Again?

“It seems Slytherin will be shooting a penalty. That was a nasty collision, George, and definitely against the rules,” Lee scolded.

“What happened?” Harry asked the spectators nearby – a bunch of Hufflepuff third-years.

“He rammed his broom into Montague’s stomach.” Harry winced, instinctively covering his own stomach with one palm. He found Montague hovering near Crabbe, hunched and green. George was waving his hands around, trying to explain himself. Madam Hooch was shaking her head. She said something and Alicia passed the Quaffle to Pucey without a word.

“The Slytherin is indeed shooting a penalty. Get ready, Ron!”

Pucey flew straight at Ron, but Harry’s attention was at Fred, who had just hit a Bludger towards the cluster of other players. Angelina swore at him viciously and flew to Madam Hooch’s side.

“GOOD ONE, RON!” Lee howled at the same time Madam Hooch whistled once more. “Oh, it appears the Gryffindor has called for a time-out lasting-” he paused, squinting to see Madam Hooch’s gestures, “-five minutes. Alright! We will be back in five minutes. Take that time to conjure some umbrellas if you are sitting in the top row-”

Harry ignored Lee’s attempts to entertain the crowd and landed with his teammates by the entrance to the Changing Rooms. Angelina didn’t even bother leading them inside.

“What do you think you are doing?” she hissed at the twins through clenched teeth. Her face was red and it wasn’t just from all the fast flying. She stabbed her finger in George’s chest.

“We are trying to win the game, since none of you are so inclined,” George growled back. “It’s eighty to ten, in case you didn’t notice.”

“And giving them penalties is supposed to help us how?” Alicia snapped back before spinning at Fred. “And you! What was that? Why did you hit the Bludger at us? Be glad Hooch didn’t see that or they’d be shooting another!”

“Sorry,” Fred muttered, but he didn’t sound too bothered.

“Stop fouling,” Angelina threatened, “or you are out of the team no matter what. And you,” she glared at Harry, “catch the damned Snitch already or we  _ will _ lose this match.”

Harry nodded. He caught Ron’s eye and shook his head gently. It wasn’t his fault. They took off again, returning to their posts. Harry made his way across the pitch to get out of the twins’ range and noticed the Slytherin team huddled in front of their Changing Rooms. Montague drank something, then passed it to someone  _ inside _ the Changing Rooms. He frowned. Potions were against the rules, unless given by the referee or the healers. His eyes met with Montague’s as the Slytherins mounted their brooms.

Time seemed to stop and Harry froze in the air. Both remaining Chasers looked up as well. They stiffened when they noticed him hovering above. Unauthorized potion was enough to declare the game forfeit.

“The time-out is almost up, we’re now only waiting for the Slytherin team.” Lee’s voice finally made it through the buzzing in Harry’s ears. Tell or not? He hesitated for a final moment, before turning his eyes away. He remained in place, eyes skimming the area. He did his best to not pay attention to the opposing team taking off. 

“And they are in the air. Back to the game!” Harry gripped his broom tighter and took a calming breath. 

“The Quaffle is in the air...” 

If they lose, he’s going to regret that. 

“MONTAGUE IN POSSESSION!” His eyes snapped open and he breathed out. He forced his attention away from the game itself. He needed to catch the Snitch.

The game dragged on. Harry circled the pitch with a clenched jaw. He came to a stop in front of the scoreboard and stared. One hundred ninety to seventy. He had stopped paying attention, but that was too much. Too big of a lead. He turned inside the pitch just in time to see Pucey score another penalty. The scoreboard flipped with a soft ding. He had to find the Snitch fast.

“Seen it anywhere?” Malfoy yelled at him from few feet away. His hair was sticking to his face, water dripping from his robes His expression was scrunched, almost frozen in place by that point. Harry had no hope he looked any better.

“No!” he yelled back. Malfoy opened his mouth, but had to duck out of the Bludger’s way. It turned around behind him and aimed back. Then Malfoy swooped down rapidly, as if seeing the Snitch. He stopped a few feet below and turned his face to the sky with a tic in his eye. Probably another watch. Harry left him to it and made his way over the pitch. It had to be somewhere.

“Ouch,” Lee groaned sympathetically. “I would not want to be hit there. But a solid metal ball into-”

“Jordan!”

“-doesn’t stop Warrington, apparently. He carries on, passing to Pucey, back to Warrington, to Montague, Warrington again, Pucey is in the scoring area and he gets the Quaffle- BELL COLLIDES WITH HIM! Damn that seems like another foul on the Gryffindor side, but- IS THAT A BROOM FALLING TO THE GROUND?”

Harry whirled around. Katie hung on the front of Pucey’s broom. Pucey had dropped the Quaffle in favour of properly steering the broomstick with both hands. They were descending at a dangerous angle. Katie shrieked and tried to drag herself to sit behind Pucey.

She didn’t manage in time and hit the grass. She let go and rolled a few feet on the grass. 

The sudden loss of weight cost Pucey his control of the broom. He fell off.

Harry winced with the impact. A broken bone or two at the very least, if he were to guess.

Madam Pomfrey hurried onto the pitch. Harry watched as she checked on the two Chasers. Pucey was sitting in the wet grass with dazed expression while Katie limped away from the pitch, leaning heavily on a Hufflepuff boy. 

“Oh dear, it appears both teams are down one Chaser,” Lee commented. “But the Quaffle is now in the air again, time to give the two some private time-”

“JORDAN, STOP MAKING THESE INSINUATIONS!” McGonagall roared at him and attempted to snatch the microphone from his hands.

“Sorry, professor! Anyway, Spinnet’s got the Quaffle! She passes to Johnson – GO ANGELINA – back to Spinnet, Johnson again, Spinnet, Johnson, Spinnet and Montague intercepts the throw! Slytherin is now in possession!”

Harry tuned out the commentary right after Warrington managed to score again. Two hundred ten to seventy. He had to catch the bloody Snitch. He scanned the pitch one more time, absently counting the games he’d lost. There had been the one with Cedric, but he couldn’t remember any other. 

“Montague ready to throw, Ron you’ve got this!” Lee yelled. “Merlin’s beard, that Bludger nearly took his arm off! Where are the Gryffindor Beaters? Anyway, Slytherin scores again!”

“Hey, Potter!” someone yelled from the stands he’d been hovering near. He found the Slytherin fifth-years standing there. “End this already!” Davis demanded. A hood was falling into her face, dripping water like a waterfall in front of her face.

“Believe me, I’m trying!” he shouted back, running a hand through his hair, trying to get it out of his face. “If you see the Snitch, just let me know!” He left them there and flew off. Slytherin already had a hundred and fifty point lead. The best he could do was a draw which would let the Chasers have a go at trying to score the winning goal.

He turned his eyes to the sky, just in case. There he saw it. On the other side of the pitch, twenty feet up, was the Snitch. He flattened himself on the broom and shot after it, ignoring Lee’s comments. He noticed Malfoy take off after him immediately.

The Snitch seemed to sense his approached as it dropped straight down. Harry changed the course and followed in a fluent curve, eyes glued to the golden bugger. He reached out, almost grabbing it-

A Bludger slammed into his forearm and sent him spinning. He grabbed the broom with both hands just as Malfoy failed to avoid him and crashed into his side. “FUCK!” Harry snarled. He fought his broom for control and whirled around.

“Do you see it?” he asked Malfoy.

“No.” 

They hovered together near the middle Gryffindor goal post. The Quaffle flew over their heads through the hoop right as Ron’s broom was hit by another Bludger, sending him crashing into the post. He regained his balance easily and cursed at Goyle.

“They are good, right?” Malfoy smirked at him, giving up on finding the Snitch for the moment.

Harry eyed Goyle’s wobbly style of flying with arched eyebrows. “Not particularly.” Crabbe hit the Bludger in Fred’s direction and knocked the bat out of his hands. “They are miserable fliers,” he added.

Malfoy’s smirk widened and he flew off without another word. Harry glared at his back and shook his head. The Quaffle fell to the ground on his side. He glanced at the scoreboard and sighed. There was no saving the game.

“Has Malfoy spotted the Snitch again?” Lee yelled over the Slytherin’s cheering. Harry’s eyes found Malfoy closing in on the Golden Snitch. He leaned forward, shooting after him. They may lose the game anyway, but he’d be damned if he let him get the Snitch.

His broom was faster than Malfoy’s and catching up with him was no problem at all. Malfoy glared and rammed into his side. Harry rammed him back and reached out. The Snitch changed directions, flying straight up. Its wings fluttered desperately just out of Harry’s reach. The raindrops fell straight onto Harry’s face, each feeling like a slap. 

Malfoy pushed him again, but Harry felt the ball under his palm. He closed his fingers, grasping the Snitch, stopping his broom sharply. He levelled it, watching Malfoy shoot by him and come to a stop few meters higher. He looked back down onto the pitch and raised his hand. The sound of a whistle reached him as he started making his way down.

“HARRY POTTER CATCHES THE SNITCH EARNING GRYFFINDOR ONE HUNDRED AND FIFTY POINTS!” Lee’s voice thundered over the cheering Slytherins and outraged Gryffindors. “THE GAME ENDS AT FIVE HOURS AND TWENTY-SEVEN MINUTES WITH- MERLIN’S BEARD, THAT IS A BIG SCORE! TWO HUNDRED FORTY TO TWO HUNDRED THIRTY! SLYTHERIN WINS THE GAME BY MERE TEN POINTS!”

Most of the crowd booed loudly, almost entirely drowning out the Slytherin cheering. Harry touched down on the pitch and handed the Snitch over to Madam Hooch before joining his team. The twins looked grim as he approached.

“What did you catch it for?” George barked at him.

Harry straightened up and glared back. “So we lose by the smallest possible difference? We can still win the cup.”

“It’s good you caught it,” Angelina stepped in, literally putting herself between him and George. “We just need to hope Hufflepuff or Ravenclaw cope with the new team better.”

“Or just don’t foul as much,” Alicia muttered darkly, invoking Fred’s furious scowl. 

Harry stepped away from the arguing foursome and approached Ron. “You good?” he asked, nudging his elbow.

Ron smiled ruefully. “I’ve lost count of how many times they nearly took my head off today.” He rolled his eyes. “Bloody hell. I just hope Katie is alright.”

“That was a nasty fall,” Harry agreed. His attention was on Madam Hooch who frowned in their direction. “Shouldn’t we congratulate the winners?” he asked louder. “Good sportsmanship and all that?” Even Flint had usually spared at least a few clipped words for Oliver.

“I am not congratulating the bloody snakes,” George snapped at him and stalked off to the Changing Rooms.

Angelina shook her head and whirled around. “Well, I  _ am. _ ” She walked purposefully towards the Slytherin team. Alicia followed her without a second thought. Harry tossed his broom into his left hand and inclined his head in their direction before making his way over as well.

“This is new,” he muttered to Ron, who snickered. Fred scoffed behind his back, but said nothing.

“Montague!” Angelina yelled at the other captain. The cluster of Slytherins dispersed, letting her pass. Madam Hooch took several cautious steps towards them, ready to cut off any impending fight.

Montague’s eyes narrowed as he glanced at each of the approaching Gryffindors. His eyes lingered on Harry for a moment longer, before tearing away abruptly. “Yes?”

Angelina thrust her hand forward. “I wanted to congratulate you,” she said simply, staring into his eyes. She visibly hesitated. “And apologize for the antics of our Beaters. That was not part of the strategy.” Her eyes dropped briefly to his stomach before jumping back up to return his gaze.

Silence followed, forming a bubble amongst the cheering still going on by the spectators. Montague glanced down at her hand, brows furrowed. His eyes jolted between the rest of the Gryffindor team. 

He grasped her hand. “Thanks.” The handshake was far more gentle than it had been before the game. “Maybe next time Malfoy will even catch the Snitch,” he added with a side-glance to the blond Seeker.

The Slytherin team chuckled, easing the atmosphere somewhat. Malfoy blushed, muttering “Almost,” under his breath. Harry grinned at him impishly. 

Angelina took a step back from the Slytherins, turning to leave. Harry made to follow her, but then Warrington spoke, halting them: “Where’s the third Weasley?”

Harry froze. Bad question. Angelina whirled in place to stare Fred down, but Ron beat him to responding. “My brother is a sore loser,” he said easily and Harry breathed out a sigh of relief. “And you are Slytherins.” Harry stared disbelievingly at Ron’s light shrug. “It’s probably for the better he’s not here.”

Montague snorted, but chose not to comment further. “Let’s get out of this hellish rain,” he told his team with a last nod at the Gryffindors. He led the way to their Changing Rooms where a crowd was gathering. There would be a celebration in the Slytherin Dungeon that night.

“What he said!” Alicia declared, hurrying to get changed herself, broom slung over her shoulder. Harry exchanged an amused look with Ron and followed.

Before he could enter, however, Ron grabbed his arm to stop him. He waved Fred and Angelina inside and waited for them to close the door. “You do know this is going to be hell, right?” he asked.

Harry rolled his eyes. “It’s been hell past two months and it had been hell before on many occasions. I am used to this.” He patted Ron’s shoulder. “They are going to be far angrier at you anyway.”

“Oh, I know,” Ron grimaced. “Why can’t they be angry at the twins for once?” He pushed the door open without waiting for an answer.


	19. Solving the cubical problem

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yes, I do know what the answer is.

“Put your brooms away and come on,” Hermione said the moment they left the Changing Room. She grabbed Ron’s forearm and started dragging him away, leaving Harry to follow, bemused. Ron shot a panicked look over his shoulder and tripped on the stairs leading to the broom shed.

“Come on, Harry!” she called, tapping her foot on the dusty path while Ron did his best to secure his broom.

Harry smiled. “The cubes are not going anywhere.” He handed his broom to Ron.

“It’s not the cubes, I want to avoid our housemates!” She rolled her eyes before glaring at Ron, who was, apparently, taking too long. “They – you – take Quidditch too seriously. It’s just a game.”

“Just a game! It’s the best game!” Ron exclaimed, feigning hurt.

“Still just a game,” Hermione retorted. “Come on.” She grabbed Ron’s arm again and pulled him towards the castle. Harry laughed at Ron’s helpless look.

The entrance hall was mostly empty, only a few people lagging behind the main groups that had already vanished into the common rooms. At least Gryffindors were bound to be discussing the game. Thankfully, Harry didn’t need to be there for that. He had never been a huge fan of those discussions and he certainly didn’t need to hear any more insults on his address.

They ducked into the dungeons and rushed down the stairs. The corridors were silent – too silent. No cheering, no yelling and no toasting could be heard. Where were the Slytherins? 

Harry exchanged a look with his friends. Odd. Their common room wasn’t so far, they should be hearing  _ something _ .

Hermione bit her bottom lip before shrugging forcefully. “Whatever. Where’s the classroom?”

Harry gestured down the hall. “This way.” 

He led them in the correct direction. He threw a vary look at the door of Black’s office. There was nothing in the rules saying they couldn’t be here, but this was still Slytherin territory. He didn’t need rules to know they were unwelcome.

Following the hall he pushed open the second door on the right. “This is it. I haven’t seen any rune circles the last time, however.”

Hermione looked around, unimpressed. “You wouldn’t know what to look for.” She swiped the dust off of the closest desk.

Harry scowled in offence. “Just because I can’t read them-”

“-Help me find one that’s not broken,” she interrupted him, cleaning another table.

“What’s it supposed to look like?” Ron asked quickly. He shot a look at Harry that Harry chose to interpret as  _ shut up _ . 

“Two circles with runes between them. We need one where the runes weren’t damaged. The circles can be cracked, but I’d prefer they weren’t.” She waved her hand at the first table for reference to what she meant. “Don’t use magic on the tables.”

Harry joined the two of them in searching the tables. Most had at least one rune that seemed to be partly burned off; there were traces of runes drawn onto such marks and then broken again. Some circles were barely recognizable as runic, so many of them were just gone.

“How about this one?” Ron asked, standing by the table closest to the teacher’s desk. Hermione paused studying the one in front of her and walked over to him, leaning over the table. She tilted her head gradually as she read the runes.

“Looks good. Let’s see...” She pulled out her wand and traced one of the runes. It lit up in dimmed violet light. Hermione pursed her lips and traced the rest of them. Once the final rune lit up, the whole circle shone brighter; the light spilling into the circles on both sides before being cut abruptly, only purple ambers left behind in the lines. Hermione squinted at them. 

“Well, hopefully, it won’t crumble.” She placed one of the tin cubes in the middle of it.

“How does it work?” Ron whispered to Harry, both of them retreating a safe distance as not to disturb her. Harry shrugged in response, perching atop one of the tables. He pretended not to see Ron rolling his eyes as he dusted off a chair and sat. “What do we do now?”

“Hide from McLaggen.” Harry couldn’t stop the distaste from seeping into his voice.

Ron snorted. “Among other people.” He glanced at the door. “I sort of want to nick some butterbeer from the Slytherins.”

“That’s a bad idea!” Hermione said loudly, sparing them an exasperated glance.

Ron held up his hands. “I wasn’t going to!” He grinned. “You should know me better than that.”

“Let’s be fair, that’s exactly what you would do,” Harry noted dryly and scooted away before Ron could hit him. 

Which let him totally unprepared to be caught with a spell in his face.

“Seriously?” he asked, sighing. He pulled out his wand with the intent to dispel whatever ridiculous colour his hair was. Then he got a better idea.

“Silencio.” He pointed his wand at Ron, who attempted to dive out of the way, tumbling out of his chair. He didn’t manage and the spell hit his shoulder. From the look on his face, Harry deduced that was enough. He grinned at his friend and turned his hair back to their usual black.

“This is not the place to train your duelling,” Hermione chimed in with a disapproving look.

Ron glowered at Harry mutely, ignoring her. Harry smirked back and got up, making his way over to Hermione. “How long do you think this will take?”

“Half an hour each? I got some practice with the one that exploded.” She drew several runes onto the cube with something that looked similar to a muggle liner. One of the extremely thin ones.

“Where did you get that?” He pointed at the tool. Ron jabbed him in his side with an ugly scowl plastered on his face.

“I asked Lisa Turpin if she didn’t know where to get one. She borrowed it from one of the older Ravenclaws.” She glanced at Ron. “Can you dispel it already?”

Harry rolled his eyes and muttered the counter. 

“Thank you.” Ron roughly poked his side one more time. Harry swatted his hand away with a hiss.

“Your fault,” he shot back easily and turned back to Hermione. “Are we disturbing you?”

She hesitated, the liner hovering above the cube. “Kind of?” She shot them a rueful smile.

Harry took step back, exchanging a look with Ron. “I’ll just work on my occlumency then.”

“You at least have something to work on.”

Harry took a seat on the chair Ron had cleaned, leaning back until the backrest hit the wall. “Nothing is stopping you from doing the same.”

“Except I haven’t even seen my mindscape yet,” Ron grumbled, cleaning another chair with a Scourgify.

Harry shrugged. There was very little he could do to help as he’d already given both of his friends his best advice from his own experience. Neither had found it particularly useful or applicable. Sirius had been telling the truth when he said it was different for everyone.

He closed his eyes, letting his mind run free for a moment, jumping between unfinished assignments and failed spells, until he finally allowed himself to sink into his mind fully. The silence was replaced with rolling waves and singing phoenix somewhere high above him. He smiled absently and cracked his eyes open.

He shifted, bringing his legs into a more comfortable position before returning to his thoughts. There was so much happening around him, yet it felt so small; tiny, when put next to his previous experiences. There was no imminent danger. As strange as it sounded, the perceived safety only made him feel more on edge. What was the worst thing happening currently? The Ministry’s behaviour. And while that was disconcerting, it wasn’t a deadly threat to him. Not yet, at any rate.

He stretched and got up from under the aspen, approaching the water. The surface was calm, only disturbed by a gentle breeze. Fiery phoenix sat on a dead branch sticking from the water. It turned its gaze onto him, then took off abruptly. The next moment, a head broke the surface, lunging after it, followed by a flared hood and slender body. It missed and plopped back into the lake with a loud splash. 

Harry snorted. “Hello,” he hissed at no one in particular, fully aware that only the selma would understand, but she was too far to hear him. The phoenix landed on one of the aspens with an indignant caw. The selma raised it’s head from the water again, this time far more gracefully and glared at the bird – as much as snakes can glare, anyway.

Harry shook his head at his two protectors. He was fairly content with his mindscape. It still looked like it levitated in void and there was nothing to protect the actual landmass, but he’d figure that out. His memories were protected and that was the most important thing for now. Of course, this was meant to be the last line of defence, the books had said. If someone did break into his mind this was what they would find. The point of occulumency was to stop people from breaking in at all. He sighed. Better take it one step at the time. Get fully comfortable with what you know and then move on to more challenging stuff and all that rot.

“Harry,” Ron’s voice reached his ears, barely a whisper. He looked around with narrowed eyes. How-

Idiot. Of course, Ron wasn’t in his head. He closed his eyes and willed himself back into reality.

Glancing around, he found Ron locking the room and Hermione standing frozen in place, glaring holes into the wood. A slight trembling of her hands gave her away – her hands rarely shook.

He got up, but Ron threw a look over his shoulder and gestured for Harry to be quiet. There were voices in the hallway.

“I think we took a wrong turn somewhere,” a female voice said. It sounded vaguely familiar to Harry, but he couldn’t place it.

“Nonsense. It’s in one of these rooms. I just don’t know which one,” a male voice responded. Harry’s eyes almost bulged out. The Bloody Baron?

“You’ve been in the castle for over a millennium and still don’t know all its quirks, Baron? And you call yourself a Slytherin?” the woman teased.

“Even the founders never knew all the quirks. Perhaps together, but not each. Godric in particular was prone to get lost in the dungeons.”

“A trait he passed on to his house,” the woman giggled. “How fitting.”

“Indeed.” There was a pause before the Bloody Baron spoke again. “Are you going to look into these rooms or not?”

“Alright, alright.”

Footsteps approached the door before the doorknob moved and someone tried to open it. Harry held his breath, wand slipping into his hand, even if he was fairly certain the woman was only one of the Slytherin students.

“What the- Locked?”

“Strange. Hold on, I’ll check,” The Bloody Baron murmured. Then he passed through the doors.

Harry’s eyes met with Barons’, floating right in front of him. The cool expression of the ghost changed slightly, his eyebrows raising as his lips curled into a cold smile. It only grew as his eyes travelled to Ron and Hermione, before finally settling on the active runic circle.

“Baron,” Harry acknowledged through the lump in his throat. He hoped his voice didn’t carry outside, although it likely did.

“It’s highly inefficient to lock the doors against ghosts,” the Baron noted, a hint of amusement veiled in his voice. His right hand remained on the hilt of his sword. Harry wasn’t certain if such a weapon could cause them harm or why the ghost would even attempt to do that, but was unwilling to take chances. He slipped his wand back inside his pocket.

“We weren’t expecting a ghost,” Ron muttered under his breath, but as Baron’s eyes fell on him, his smile widening still, it was clear he’d heard.

They stayed silent for a long moment, watching each other. Harry was careful not to stare at the silver bloodstains on the ghost’s robes and shoes, or at the heavy chains binding his wrists – he wondered how they haven’t heard them clunking before. Instead, he focused on the unpleasant smile that twisted his face and sent shivers down Harry’s spine.

Then, suddenly and without another word, the ghost slid backwards and passed through the door, leaving a smudge of ectoplasm dripping down the door. Harry blinked and stiffened when he heard the girl’s voice again: “Anything of interest in there?”

“Of course,” Baron answered in a low voice that froze Harry’s blood in his veins. His breath caught as the ghost continued. “Someone’s making use of this castle’s considerable resources. Come along.” The clinging of chains followed the hallway to the right, followed by a set of footsteps moments later. Harry exchanged looks with his friends, all of them thinking the same. What the hell?

“We’ve gotta go,” Ron decided, swiftly dispelling the locking charms. “Before the Slytherins decide to check out what Baron’s talking about.”

“I’m working on the last cube.” Hermione shook her head. “Give me twenty minutes tops and we can go.”

“But-”

“-Who knows when we’ll have a chance like this again,” Hermione interrupted him, already hunching over her project. Ron frowned at her back, but backed down, locking the door again.

“No one ever notices when we disappear for most of the day,” he muttered under his breath. He glanced at Harry. “I thought he doesn’t talk?”

Harry couldn’t hide the amused quirk of his lips. “Of course he talks.” Then he shrugged, his face mirroring Ron’s expression. “And they do notice,” he said with a sigh and messed up his hair.

From Hermione’s distracted glance in their direction, Harry knew she wanted to add something, but was too busy focusing on enchanting to truly do so.

“I don’t like it,” Ron shook his head. “I don’t-” He hesitated. “It makes me feel weird. All of this.” He gestured ambiguously around them.

Harry knew exactly what he meant. It was almost as if someone rewrote the laws of nature over the summer and forgot to inform them. “You’re looking into it too much,” he tried to console Ron despite his own odd sensations.

“Perhaps.” Ron’s tone clearly suggested he didn’t buy it. It was worth a try.

They lapsed into silence as Hermione worked, occasionally muttering under her breath. By the time she finished, the silence was starting to turn oppressive and the chilling air bit into Ron’s skin, tinting it red.

Hermione grabbed the last cube from the table, before swiping her wand over the circle with a whispered incantation. The purple glow disappeared. She snatched her borrowed tool and stepped away. “Let’s go.”

They left the room quietly, making sure they were alone. The clinging of Baron’s shackles could be heard from the end of the hall. 

“Eurus,” Harry muttered, throwing the spell into the room, upsetting the already settled dust and forcing it into the air again as a blast of wind swept through. The chairs and tables rocked under the pressure of the wind.

Ron shut the door and they made their way out of the dungeons. Harry had originally planned to show his friends the hidden staircase to the third floor, but it was in the direction Baron and the girl went. Instead he led them to the passageway just down the hall from Black’s office. There was still no sign of Slytherins celebrating and it made him uneasy.

He checked the Marauders’ Map to see the password hadn’t changed and said “Divide and conquer” to the painting of a warhorse in their way. It neighed and swung open.

“Thanks, mate,” Ron said, making Harry roll his eyes. The horse neighed in response. “He’s either saying ‘you’re welcome’ or ‘fuck off’ - I can’t quite tell.”

Harry snorted despite himself and pushed open the door on the other side of the narrow passage. They exited on the first floor near McGonagall’s office. The entire hall was empty.

“Where is everyone?” Hermione wondered. “They can’t all be in common rooms.”

“Pretty sure they are,” Ron shrugged. “There was a quidditch game.” Hermione just scoffed at that and dragged them to the nearest empty classroom, handing them both a cube.

“It’s enchanted, but it still needs magic to activate. Just touch it with the tip of your wands. There should be enough residual magic to activate it. If not, cast a spell – any spell – and then try it. Like this.” She poked the top side of her cube with her wand. The runes engraved into the surface flashed purple. She looked up at them expectantly and said-

Harry felt a massive smile splitting his face before he burst out laughing, Ron next to him in a similar state. Hermione glared at them and said something else. Harry shook his head at her. “Sorry Hermione, but-” he breathed in and snickered once more, “-we can’t hear you.”

She scowled at him and nodded, then gestured at their cubes sharply. Harry exchanged a look with Ron, but in the end, activated the cube.

“Finally,” Hermione huffed. Harry blinked, looking between the cube and Hermione a couple of times. Then he glanced at Ron who shrugged.

“You can only hear me – or each other – with activated cube. I couldn’t figure out how to make it work otherwise.”

“That’s quite a downside,” Harry noted, frowning.

“I know. But I really have no idea how to do it.” She sounded positively unhappy about it.

“How did you make it work on only one person?” Ron asked, concentrated look on his face.

“Oh, it binds to the magic it receives. The one on your wand. So it only works on someone who carries that magic.”

“Couldn’t you-” Ron and Harry started speaking at once. They exchanged a look and Harry gestured for Ron to continue. “Couldn’t you like… store a bunch of this residual magic in the cubes as a loophole? So people who carry that magic will be excluded from the enchantment?”

Hermione tilted her head. “That could work.” She nodded slowly. Then her eyes snapped to Harry. “What were you going to suggest?”

Harry grimaced. “Make it two-stage. So the listening part is always activated, but the one that hides the sound isn’t.”

Hermione tilted her head further, adopting Ron’s contemplative expression. “Then all someone would need to do was steal the cube.”

Harry shook his head. “Not if both are bound to our magic?” He hoped he was correct anyway. It sounded correct in his head. He could almost see the wheels turning in Hermione’s mind, an idea forming.

“That’s… Hmm, let me think about this.” She bit on her bottom lip, pulling it in. Harry exchanged an amused grin with Ron, but they were quick to hide it behind serious facades.

“Do we go to the common room?” Ron asked conversationally.

Harry pulled a face, but it was Hermione – snapping out of her contemplation at the suggestion – who shot the idea down. “I promised Lisa I’d return this today. I’d like to do that now.”

“Do you know where the Ravenclaw common room is?” Harry asked. Hermione shook her head hesitantly.

“Fifth floor?” she guessed. “Somewhere around there.”

“Let’s see,” Harry muttered and pulled out the Marauder’s Map.

“Here,” he pointed at a staircase that rose from the fifth-floor corridor, leading into a large circular room with many alcoves. Ravenclaw common room was written in that room in a script that wasn’t Sirius’ or Remus’. Harry hoped it was his father’s and not Pettigrew’s.

They turned the privacy cubes off and made their way up. Harry overheard Peeves cackling in one of the third-floor corridors and promptly dragged his friends in the opposite direction. They offered no resistance as he ducked into one of the less used hidden corridors. On the fifth floor, they came to a halt in a wide hall off of the hospital wing corridor. There was a staircase to the fourth floor at the end of it and many windows lining the left wall. Hermione pushed open one of the doors on the right. It led to a narrow spiral staircase that only led up.

Harry and Ron followed Hermione as she hurried up the stairs before coming up to a stop in front of a door. She visibly hesitated and Harry glanced over her shoulder. The door had no doorknob or visible keyhole. In fact, the only not wooden part was a large bronze knocker shaped like an eagle.

“Now what?” Ron asked, furrowing his brows. “We don’t know the password.”

Hermione reached forward and knocked. Nothing happened for a second, but then the eagle shuddered and opened its black eyes. “How many bricks does it take to complete a building made of brick?” it asked in a nasal voice.

Harry stared while Ron at his right scoffed and rolled his eyes to the ceiling. He muttered something uncharitable about Ravenclaws and know-it-alls.

“I’m- sorry?” Hermione said hesitantly, glancing at Harry.

“How many bricks does it take to complete a building made of brick?”

“We heard the first time ‘round, mate,” Ron muttered under his breath and leaned against the wall with his shoulder.

Hermione paid him no mind. “I… I guess it depends on how big the building is? Or…?” She glanced at Harry again as if he knew the answer.

He shrugged. “No idea and honestly I don’t care. We just want to speak with Lisa Turpin.” He told the knocker. “Fifth-year, Ravenclaw? Can you maybe send her down?”

The eagle seemed to turn its eyes on him. “How many bricks-”

“-We are not Ravenclaw students!” Hermione interrupted it swiftly. “Can you just tell someone up there that we want to talk to someone?”

“How many-”

“Oh Merlin’s saggy balls!” Ron pushed Hermione to the side gently and slammed his fist on the door. “OPEN UP!” He banged his fist on the wood, punctuating every shout. “GOLDSTEIN! PATIL! TURPIN! MERLIN, SOMEONE OPEN THE BLOODY DOOR!”

Hermione pinched the bridge of her nose with a deep sigh, but didn’t say anything. Harry couldn’t stop the snicker escaping his throat and Ron shot him a nasty look over his shoulder. “CHANG!”

The door opened suddenly and Ron almost hit a girl in the face. He pulled his fist back with a light flush. “Hi. Is Lisa Turpin inside?” he pressed on, leaving Harry feeling vaguely impressed.

The girl looked between the three of them with narrowed eyes. “Wait here,” she ordered and shut the door in their face. Ron took a step back, leaving Hermione to stand closest to the door again.

“Who was that?” Harry asked. “I feel like I’ve seen her before.”

“Noreen Kirkby,” Hermione told him. “She is in charge of the library assistants.”

Harry screwed his forehead, trying to remember anyone from that particular bunch of people who had entirely too much free time on their hands, but came up empty. He shrugged, letting the matter drop.

The door was pulled open and Lisa stepped through. “Hi,” she raised her eyebrows at them. “Noreen said you were looking for me?”

“Yes,” Hermione nodded and pulled the tool from her bag, “here.”

Lisa blinked and took it from her. “You’re done already?”

“For now. I need to make a bit more research so I might need again though.”

Lisa nodded with a grin. “Just out of interest, what were you enchanting?”

“That’s a secret,” Ron interrupted the conversation and grinned at the Ravenclaw. “Don’t worry, it won’t blow up the castle.”

Harry nudged his side and frowned. “Be nice,” he said in a playful tone. “She helped me with History.” He turned to Lisa. “I never did thank you for that, did I?”

“You can thank me by cursing Dunbar in her sleep.”

“What did she do this time?” Hermione asked before Harry could point out he couldn’t get to the girls’ dorm.

Lisa shrugged, unconcerned. “Called Mandy a mudblood again. It’s a wonder she never remembers I’m a muggleborn too. Or that friend of hers – Tolipan, is it?”

Harry, Ron and Hermione scowled as one. “Are you sure?” Ron asked. “She’d never…” He trailed off, as if trying to grab a memory that was fleeing from him.

“Very sure, I was there.” 

Harry exchanged a look with Ron. Ron inclined his head slightly, his brows furrowed.

“What?” Lisa snapped and glared. Hermione too was watching them.

They exchanged one more look. “Well,” Harry started, “Ginny told us that Towler punched Benjamin Dunbar on Halloween and no one knows why.”

“I think we’ve just figured out why.”

Hermione shook her head. “That makes no sense. Kenneth is a pureblood just like the Dunbars.”

“So am I,” Ron pointed out dryly. Harry’s gaze flickered to him briefly.

Hermione pursed her lips. “I suppose.”

Harry sensed an argument about the bias and racism of the magical community approaching and intervened. “Is it always such a problem to reach someone inside?”

She shrugged. “You know, I don’t remember anyone else trying before. Do people often knock on Gryffindor Tower?”

Harry frowned. “Come to think of it, no, I don’t remember it happening.” He thought for a second. “I’m pretty sure The Fa- Pretty sure the portrait would let someone know if they did though.”

Lisa shrugged again. “Well, thanks for this,” she told Hermione. “I’ll let Marcus know you might need it again.”

“I’m planning on getting my own soon,” Hermione smiled. “But thank you, I don’t think I’ll have the chance before the break. And say thanks to… Marcus for me.”

“No problem. I’ll see you around then.”

They all muttered their goodbyes and turned to leave. It was time for Harry and Ron to face the wrath of their house.

“Oh, right!” Lisa called after them. “Sorry about the loss!”

Harry turned and grinned. “So am I! Somehow the Slytherin team got better over the summer.”

She laughed and shut the door behind her. Harry followed his friends back to the hall on the fifth floor. “Where to now?”

Ron sighed. “Let’s just get this over with.”

Harry nodded his agreement and followed him to the Grand Staircase and further up to the Gryffindor Tower. The hallways were deserted, casting oppressive images into Harry’s mind. The castle wasn’t made to seem so empty. They turned down the Fat Lady’s corridor just as McGonagall stepped out of the common room. Ron and Hermione exchanged a look and hurried forward, leaving Harry to try and catch up with them.

“Professor McGonagall!” Hermione called. “Did something happen?”

McGonagall turned around, her eyes landing at them. Harry thought he saw a brief flicker of relief in her eyes, but if he did, it was gone as soon as it appeared.

“No, Miss Granger, thankfully everyone remains in the appropriate levels of outrage. Thanks to Miss Johnson’s efforts no doubt.” Her lips showed the barest upturning. “Mr Potter, Mr Weasley, despite the outcome I would like to congratulate you both on the game.”

“Thank you, professor.” Harry and Ron both inclined their heads.

“Now that I have you here,” her eyes turned back to Hermione, “I would like to speak with you, Miss Granger.”

“Of course, professor.” Hermione stepped away, freeing the way to the Fat Lady’s portrait for Harry and Ron.

“And Weasley,” McGonagall said as Harry shuffled through his mind for the current password, “I’d prefer there be no fights in the common room today.”

“Take the fights outside, understood,” Ron grinned and nudged Harry who finally remembered the password.

“Look after him, Potter,” McGonagall ordered with a repressed sigh just as the Fat Lady swung open.

“Are you sure that’s a good idea, professor?” Harry cocked his head with a slight smirk.

McGonagall pursed her lips, but the corner of them jerked visibly. “Get inside.” She spun on her heel, striding towards the Grand Staircase. “Come along, Miss Granger.”

Hermione shook her head and levelled them with piercing glare. “No fights, period if at all possible, alright?” Her voice was too gentle to be taken as threatening.

“We’ll do our best,” Harry promised. She nodded at him and strode off after McGonagall who at some point turned and was waiting for her farther down the corridor.

Harry exchanged a forlorn look with Ron and took a deep breath. Unhappy muttering was reaching their ears from the open archway. Harry reflected that perhaps people were taking quidditch a little too seriously after all.

“Are you coming in or not?” the Fat Lady asked dryly, causing Harry to deeply wish for the voice of a different, much more pleasant portrait.

“Yeah, yeah,” Ron muttered and stepped over the threshold, followed closely by Harry. The door swung shut behind them with a soft click, cutting off their only escape route. Stepping inside the common room properly, all eyes immediately turned to them. 

“There they are!” a rough voice rang from one of the couches. “The stars that lost us the match.” Harry resented the fact he didn’t need to look to recognize McLaggen.

His eyes scanned the room and its occupants. Only a few people were there, but unfortunately, all of them were the most likely to be upset. The rest of the quidditch team was nowhere to be found. Lee’s spot was abandoned. Neville and Towler were gone as well. Instead, there were the likes of Seamus – surprisingly missing Dean by his side – and Fay.

He contemplated staying quiet and just making his way to the dorms. Ron, obviously having had the same idea, didn’t spare McLaggen even a glance and moved to enter the dorms.

“Hey, I’m talking to you, Weasley!” McLaggen snapped, getting up from his seat. Ron stopped as another sixth-year boy stepped in his way. Soon he was joined by the older Dunbar.

“Are you, now?” Ron asked and turned to face him, eyes narrow. His ears were slowly turning red.

Harry glanced around. McLaggen, Dunbar and whoever the third boy was were obviously intent on picking a fight. Seamus and Fay seemed content to watch for now, but would likely join in if it did break out. The rest were a variable. Potentially just over fifteen people against the two of them. Harry didn’t fancy their chances.

“Yeah.” McLaggen stomped forward like a bear and stopped face to face with Ron. He wore an ugly snarl on his face. “You lost us the game. I saw how you let those quaffles pass even if you would make it in time.”

Ron’s jaw clenched. “Perhaps,” he allowed through clenched teeth, his hand inching closer to his wand. “But I quite like my bones as they are.”

“You’re a coward!” Seamus called out. “You should’ve thrown yourself after the Quaffle!”

“Because our Keeper being hospitalized, leaving the hoops unguarded for the rest of the game would be so much better,” Harry scoffed and took a tiny step forward – enough to give himself space, but not enough for someone to slip behind him. 

“You shut up, you let the Slytherins win!” the other sixth-year yelled and turned his head slightly. Harry glimpsed a bruise on his left cheek. Someone got there before them then.

“They would just get a greater difference if I haven’t caught the Snitch.”

“You should’ve caught it sooner, then!” older Dunbar’s voice boomed over the whispers.

Harry levelled him with a cool gaze. “Last time I checked you couldn’t fly properly, let alone play the Seeker, Dunbar.”

The boy’s face flushed bright red as his lips parted in an animalistic snarl that showed his teeth. He ripped his wand from his back pocket and a spell flashed thought the common room only to slam into Harry’s shield. He was too obvious.

Moments later Fay, Seamus and a seventh-year girl were on their feet, wands in their hands. Harry kept the shield up, eyes on Dunbar. “What are you playing at?” he asked with a sneer. His mind was reeling. Six enemies. Four of them older and of unknown skill.

“We’re taking care of traitors,” the girl spat at him. “Cantis!”

Harry watched with detached interest as the spell that would make him sing shattered against his shield. He looked up to stare at her with an unreadable expression. “You’re going to have to do a lot better.”

It was a mistake, he realised as three more spells sped up towards him. The shield held, but barely.

“Flugari,” he muttered to distract the older girl and threw the silencing hex at Seamus, who was focusing on Ron. It hit with no resistance and Harry felt a trickle of exasperation at it. Then he had to dodge a knee-reversal hex.

“Expelliarmus,” he snapped at the girl. She stopped the spell with a shield. Moments later Seamus was yelling “REDUCTO!” and Harry jumped to the side. He cursed himself for not thinking someone would release the other boy.

“Glacius Dua!” he bit out and sent a gust of freezing air in the direction of Seamus, McLaggen, older Dunbar and the sixth-year. None of them managed to avoid it. McLaggen and Seamus lost their wands to Ron shortly after.

“Flugari,” Harry repeated and finally managed to hit the girl. Then his shoulder soared with pain and he was knocked off his feet, banging his head on the wall. He shut his eyes. “Lumos maxima!”

A blinding flash of light gave him enough time to roll out of the way of another spell and get to his feet. “Stupefy!” He heard a thud of a body hitting the ground and assumed he’d got Fay.

He cast the biting jinx on older Dunbar’s shirt and took a moment to assess the situation. Unconscious Fay aside, Seamus and McLaggen were out of the fight – courtesy of Ron. The girl was still fighting the ropes. He hit her with another Stupefy and she slumped to the ground.

“Deflecti pravus!” he ordered and flicked his wand in Dunbar’s direction. His finger-removing jinx shot back at him, forcing him to scramble out of the way. Then something ripped Harry’s wand from his fingers. He glanced to the right only to be punched in the face by one of his fellow fifth-years.

He stumbled back, eyes watering as someone else hit him with a jelly-legs hex. He toppled over with his ears ringing. He tasted blood as it ran from his nose. Fuck. Don’t pick fights in a crowded common room, he thought absently. 

He blinked furiously to clear his sight and scooted to the side just as another spell slammed into the ground where his head had been.

“Sorry ‘bout this,” he muttered and gripped some unfortunate third-year’s wand from his pocket. It felt awful in his hand, but beggars can’t be choosers.

“Ventus!” he yelled and watched the chaos as hurricane-force wind tore through the tower, rattling the windows, tearing parchment and moving furniture. Ron took a moment to dispel the damned jelly-legs hex on him and Harry nodded his thanks, getting to his feet. “Get out, will you?” he told the third-year, but the kid just stared at him, frozen in place. Harry sighed and turned back towards the fight.

Ron went wild with stunning spell, stunning everyone that moved from their spot while avoiding flying portraits. Harry dispelled the wind and joined in, disarming and knocking unconscious everyone that as much as looked in his direction. At the back of his mind, he acknowledged the prefects screaming from the staircases leading to the dorms and made certain he didn’t hit them.

“STOP IT IMMEDIATELY!” seventh-year Ryan Westrup was shouting as Harry cast his last spell, finally managing to knock the older Dunbar unconscious. He dropped his hand to his side and turned to face the wrath of the prefects.

“What is the meaning of this, Potter, Weasley? I will have you in detention until the end of the term!”

“They attacked us first though,” Ron said, waving his hand around. “They refused to stop when I told them to.”

Harry had not heard Ron ordering to stop, but he wouldn’t dispute the claim. Instead he handed the wand back to the kid and went to pick up his own from Claverdon, quietly thankful he didn’t share a room with him. Seamus would be enough.

“Potter! What are you doing?” Westrup seethed at him.

Harry turned and showed off his wand, twirling it in his fingers and enjoying the welcoming warmth it gave off. “Picking up my wand?”

The prefect scowled at him and opened his mouth. Then the door opened and in walked McGonagall, Hermione only a few steps behind her. The room fell dead silent as McGonagall took in the scene.

“In our defence,” Ron said, “they wouldn’t be dissuaded from picking a fight.”

Harry watched her shut her eyes briefly and count to ten. “Who?”

“McLaggen, Finnegan, both Dunbars, Lynn and Owly started it,” Ron explained. “The rest joined in after. Well, most anyway.”

“Most?”

Harry took over the explanation with a light shrug and a grimace when it aggravated whatever they had done to his shoulder – a quick look proved it to be a cut. “There was chaos after I released the Ventus wind. We weren’t exactly waiting for them to cast first.”

“Get yourselves to the hospital wing,” McGonagall told them mildly. “I will need a full story from you later.”

“Of course, professor,” Harry nodded and led the way out of the Gryffindor tower, smiling ruefully at Hermione.

“Miss Granger, make sure they don’t collapse before they get there, will you?”

“Yes, professor.” Hermione followed them outside and down the hall. She was frowning, but her eyes shone with concern.

“Are you alright?” she asked, worry winning out for the moment.

“Been worse.” Harry shrugged, aggravating the wound on his shoulder again. “Madam Pomfrey will be thrilled.”


	20. How rumours are made

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I´m having all kinds of feels about the founders... again. Might have to do something about that. Anyway, today on regularly scheduled Late Night Saturday Post:

By Monday morning the story of Harry and Ron wiping the floor with eleven people at once became common knowledge among Hogwarts’ residents and a fuel to the infamous rumour mill. Frankly, it was a wonder the newspapers hadn’t yet taken it as a proof of Harry’s mental instability. As it was, the only noticeable results were the whispers that erupted everywhere they went and the way people got out of their way. Even in the common room, they were both given a wide berth.

Fortunately for everyone, Harry was well used to both and didn’t as much as blink when he entered the Great Hall for breakfast and the people nearest to the door hushed, watching him. He sat down at their usual place away from the rest of the house and dropped his bag on the ground. “Here we go again,” he muttered with a tired grimace. He had had that dream again. The one with the hallway and the door.

Hermione sighed and shot him a sympathetic look, well aware that they had had no choice. “Give it a few days. It will go away.”

“Not before they remember he’s actually the next Dark Lord,” Ron said over a mouthful of eggs. Hermione shot him a disgusted look as bits fell from his mouth back onto his plate. He gulped it down quickly.

Harry raised a single eyebrow at him. “And what would that make you?” he asked. “My cohort or my opponent?” He raised a goblet of tea to his lips watching Ginny approach.

“Cohort, obviously,” Ron said with a dismissive wave of his hand. “I’m the black sheep of the family, the one to turn to dark arts. Every family has one.”

“Actually,” Ginny said plopping down beside Harry, “Michael says some Ravenclaws think Harry has you under Imperius.” She loaded her plate with beans and sausages.

Ron’s eyes narrowed. “Really? And what else does Michael say?”

“Oh, grow up, Ron,” Hermione shook her head. “Seriously, Ginny can date whoever she wants.”

“Thank you, Hermione,” Ginny said decisively. “Oh look, the mail!” she called and gestured upwards sharply. More heads turned up to watch the owls swoop over the hall with packages, letters and newspaper. One owl headed straight for Harry, barely giving him time to move his plate before it landed.

He narrowed his eyes at it, certain he didn’t know who it belonged to. Cautiously he took the offered letter from it and offered it a piece of bacon. It seemed to consider him for a while before taking the treat and taking off. 

“Are you expecting a letter?” Hermione asked with tilted head.

Harry shook his head, eyes landing on the seal holding it shut. It was red as sealing wax usually was. The impression on it, however... He had never seen it before yet he felt like he should know it from somewhere. It wasn’t even easily distinguishable – smudged and badly pressed in was just a capital L with what could be two leaves.

Of course. He dropped the letter into his bag. “Turns out I am expecting a letter,” he said conversationally. He was sure he was right. He had pushed the letter to Frank to the back of his mind, but this was a response, he was sure of it.

“Mum’s asking how we all are,” Ron said, not bothering to acknowledge Harry’s sudden change of opinion. He looked up to raise his eyebrows at Harry. “Do I tell her?”

“Do as you will. You’ll be the one receiving a howler,” Harry told him and returned to his breakfast, swallowing last few bites. Then he glanced back at his friend. “I already told Snuffles.”

Ron waved his hand. “Snuffles won’t yell at you and- Where are you going?” He stared at Hermione and Ginny who’d stood up.

“Library,” Ginny sang, grabbing her things. “Some of us were not daft enough to pick flying as their elective and have a free period.”

Harry groaned. “We’ve got Binns, don’t we?” No one bothered answering him. He fought the urge to drop his head on the table and pretend to be dead and got up. “Let’s go.”

He followed Hermione through the halls with bleak thoughts about all the places he’d rather be going. The letter weighted heavily in his bag. What was in it? A refusal? An agreement? Why did it take so long to come? He had half the mind to open it there, but knew better. While nothing as incriminating as his correspondence with Sirius, it was still a personal letter that he’d prefer no one saw. Not until he knew what was going on. Until he had at least some grasp on the whole idea of nobility. He still couldn’t wrap his head around it.

He slipped into his seat, dropping his head onto the desk with a thud. Immediately his agitated scar protested the treatment and he straightened up. Ignoring the glares and fearful looks thrown his way with practised ease he pulled out the textbook and a spare parchment with a quill, knowing full well he wouldn’t use them. He leaned back, settling in for very boring two periods.

Not five minutes into the lecture someone tossed a paper ball onto his table – paper, not parchment. He unrolled it with narrowed eyes and scanned the contents – prefect business. He nudged Ron and handed the paper to him. Instead of throwing another paper, Ron simply got up and walked over to Jones, completely disregarding the lecture Binns was droning through.

“You’re hard to catch,” Susan said, plopping into Ron’s abandoned seat. “I’ve been wanting to speak with you for quite a while.” She pulled out her wand and set up a privacy charm around them, earning several suspicious looks from their classmates. Binns still didn’t interrupt his lecture.

Harry stared at her for a moment, a memory appearing in his mind. “Ron may have mentioned it. Sorry.” He did not sound sorry at all and grimaced internally. “What did you want?”

She glanced over her shoulder before pinning him with a look. “I want you to teach me how to cast Patronus charm.”

Harry stared at her. She wanted him to- No. Absolutely not. He shook his head. “I can’t teach.”

“Have you tried?”

“That’s beside the point.” He scowled at her and crossed his arms. There was no way he was teaching someone he didn’t know properly. He’d promised Hermione and Ron already and that was far more students than he’d ever wanted.

“No, it’s not. Come on, the ministry’s already lost control of dementors twice. Who’s to say it won’t happen again?” She sent him a pointed look. “I’d rather be prepared.”

She made a good point. An excellent point, when Harry thought about it. “I’m sure Black would be more than happy to teach you.”

“I’m sure he would,” she conceded, but grimaced. “But I’d rather it doesn’t get back to my aunt and she always hears about it when I ask for extra lessons.”

It took Harry a moment to recall she lived with her aunt because her parents had died in the war. He could understand not wanting her guardian to know something. But this…

“Why would she have an issue with you learning patronus?”

“I am too young.” The resentment was now clear on Susan’s face. “If my parents weren’t ‘too young’ they could still be alive.”

Harry forcefully stopped himself from wincing. He had not expected that. Carefully he filled that information away to never forget when dealing with the girl. Then he re-evaluated his initial refusal. “Are you any good in defence?”

“My aunt is the head of DMLE, of course, I am ‘any good’ in defence.”

He sighed and looked away. Ron was leaning over a table with Hermione, discussing something with the Hufflepuff prefects. Leanne was sitting next to Fletchley, having released her seat to Macmillan, and didn’t look too happy. Binns still hadn’t noticed the changed seating – or simply didn’t care.

Harry ran a hand through his hair. “Fine,” he sighed, suspecting from the glint in her eyes she’d noticed the exact moment he caved. “But no one else can know.”

“Hannah already knows,” she informed him. Somehow he was not surprised.

“No one but Hannah, then,” he rolled his eyes. Then he hesitated. “Do you have a place in mind? The classrooms are not exactly discreet.”

“The Armoury is.”

“Because no one can get inside without Black-” Her eyes shone a little brighter. “-No.”

“But everyone says he favours you. I’m sure he’d let you-”

“-What happened to ‘no one can know’ and ‘your aunt would hear about it’?” Harry interrupted her with a scowl. “Someone will notice if you keep meeting us in a classroom where you only get with a pass outside of lessons.”

She scowled right back. “First of, us? Second, no one ever uses that corridor. They won’t notice.”

“You’ve thought a lot about this, haven’t you?” He muttered under his breath.

“Yes, I did.” She grinned at him. “So? Will you ask him?”

Harry didn’t want to. He felt very strongly against asking Black to use his classroom. However, it would solve all problems of space and being inconspicuous they’d faced with Ron and Hermione. He was surprised none of them thought of it.

“Alright, fine,” he agreed grudgingly, shaking his head. “This is going to be a disaster.”

“Great! And who’s the ‘us’ you’ve mentioned? Anyone else who can cast patronus that I don’t know about?”

“No. I promised Hermione and Ron I’d teach them.”

She stared at him. “I should’ve known,” she whispered. “Well, thank you! Let me know what Black said, ‘kay?”

Harry hummed in response and watched her take down the spell and leave, high-fiving Hannah under the table. Then Ron dropped back into his seat and tilted his head. “What did she want?”

Harry groaned and put up a pulled up the enchanted cubes. He motioned for Hermione to join them and started explaining. Binns still paid them no mind.

***

“We’ll wait for you here,” Hermione said, planting herself on a bench in front of Black’s office. “No point in all of us going in.”

Harry ran a hand through his hair. They were attracting looks from passing Slytherins. He was sure the whole school would have new gossip by the end of the break. “We could do this after lessons,” he suggested only to be glared at by both Ron and Hermione. He held up his hands. “Alright, alright.” He turned his back on them and ran a hand through his hair again. He could do this.

He knocked. 

There was no response for a while. He shot a look over his shoulder. Maybe Black wasn’t in? Although, where else would he be during the break? Then the door was pushed opened forcing Harry to step out of the way. Who’s idea was it to have doors open into the hallway anyway?

“G- Potter?” Warrington’s eyebrows climbed to his hairline. He shook himself while Harry quietly resigned himself to his fate. “Go in, I suppose?” He jerked his head towards the office and stepped aside.

Harry nodded his thanks at him and entered, pulling the door closed behind him. Black was once again sat behind his desk, although this time there were no essays in sight. Instead, a book was laid open in front of him. Black wasn’t reading, however. His eyes were fixed on Harry. If he was surprised to see him there again he hid it well.

“Professor,” Harry greeted the man hesitantly, walking up to his table, but not taking a seat.

“Mr Potter,” Black intoned back with carefully veiled amusement. “May I help you?”

Harry ignored the intense feeling of déjà vu in favour of formulating his thoughts. He adjusted his glasses. “I was wondering if I could perhaps use the Armoury outside the lessons.”

Black arched a single eyebrow. “I do not recommend practising on your own. Many things could go wrong.”

Harry shook his head quickly. “It’s not that,” he assured the professor. “It’s just…” He ran a hand through his hair. “I promised some friends I’d teach them the Patronus charm and- Well, we don’t really know where to do that without attracting attention.”

Black considered him for a long while. “And these friends would be?” His tone suggested he already had an idea.

“Ron, Hermione and-” Harry cut himself off roughly, but it was too late. Idiot. He didn’t have to mention anyone third.

“And?” Black’s face was neutral, but there was no way Harry would be getting out of this without telling him. Way to go.

“She doesn’t want her aunt to know.”

Black regarded him with a detached interest. “Miss Bones needn’t worry,” he said in the end. Harry’s jaw dropped. Could Black do legilimency? Did he? Would he?

“Mr Potter, not many people would claim to be worried about their aunt of all people.” Harry forced himself to nod, but Black wasn’t looking at him. He was looking for something in his drawer. Finally he pulled out a piece of parchment and picked a quill, scribbling something onto it. Then he pushed the parchment over the table and held out the quill for Harry. 

“Autograph, if you will.” He pointed at a bottom left side of the paper.

Harry grimaced at the way he put it, but took the quill and scratched his surname on the required place. The parchment lit up in golden light for a moment. Harry placed the quill on the table and looked up questioningly at Black.

Black waved his wand. “Take it. My copy’s in the records already.”

Harry picked up the paper and glanced at it. A permission slip to use the Armoury outside of supervised lessons. “It only has my name on it.”

“You only need permission to open the room, not to enter it.”

Right. They would all have had to sign the document to have lessons there otherwise. Harry nodded, eyes glued to the slip. It buzzed under his fingers; a feeling not dissimilar to his wand. He forced himself to tear his gaze away. “Thank you, professor,” he said, making significant effort to speak clearly.

Black inclined his head and handed him another parchment – a timetable for the classroom. Presumably so they wouldn’t barge in while Black was teaching. “Make sure I don’t regret it.”

Harry, recognizing the hidden threat, gulped and agreed. He bid the professor a good day and made his way out of the office. He slipped the parchments into his bag before he stepped into the hall. The moment she saw him, Hermione got to her feet, fixing him with a curious look.

Harry nodded at her, feeling a grin finally stretching his lips. She grinned right back while Ron clasped his shoulder. “Told ya,” he declared.

“Yeah, yeah,” Harry rolled his eyes. He followed Hermione down the hall. “Are we brewing today?”

“I don’t think so.”

Both Harry and Ron let out a sigh of relief. Last practical lesson their potion had turned out worse than usual. Likely completely unusable. 

“Hey, Potter!” a deep male voice yelled from the corridor that led to the Slytherin common room. Harry turned in time to see a group of their year-mates from Slytherin approaching. They were led by the black boy that always hung out with Nott – Zabini, if Harry recalled correctly. The rest of the group he knew – Parkinson and Nott personally, the Davis girl from that year’s Defence.

“Is it true?” Zabini asked, a smirk on his face. “Did you really pick a fight with a dozen people at once?”

Harry turned his eyes to the ceiling and prayed for strength. “We did not  _ pick _ the fight, but yes there  _ was _ a fight.” He continued down the hall. The Slytherins fell in step with them.

“How are you not in detention?” Parkinson wanted to know. “Or lost your badge?” She nodded her head at Ron and Hermione.

“I wasn’t involved,” Hermione muttered at the same time Ron said: “Because it was them who started the fight.”

“But you knocked them all unconscious,” Nott protested, waving his hands around a bit. “And I heard you’ve created a hurricane in the common room.”

Harry huffed. Of course someone would mention that. “We knocked them unconscious  _ after _ they’ve started throwing blasting curses around. McGonagall considered that a wise decision.”

“I bet,” Davis muttered under her breath and Harry startled. He’d almost forgotten she was there. “Wanna tell us what was the fight about?” she suggested, winking at him seductively. It would have a better chance at working if her hair didn’t look like she’d just flown a broom through a shrubbery. 

He exchanged a look with Ron and laughed. “I thought that would be obvious,” he said with a smirk. They stopped in front of the potions classroom. Several students were already there, gaping at the strange group. Ron sent them a cheerful little wave before turning to the Slytherins.

“They were upset we lost the game,” he explained loudly enough for Seamus to hear. Hermione shook her head at them and pulled out her Potions essay.

The Slytherins laughed, probably just to mess with the other Gryffindors since it was not that funny. Harry approved wholeheartedly. 

“Oh, right,” Zabini drawled, “such a catastrophe. Truly a mortifying ordeal, I am sure.”

“Can you imagine,” Parkinson said, a mocking smile on her face, “being so upset over losing a game that you get ten other people to curse someone and then you fail? As in, you get your ass kicked by the person you wanted to curse?”

Harry snorted, he couldn’t help it. He played along just for the fun of it. “I know right? And they are older than us.”

“Pathetic the lot of them,” Nott agreed, sneering.

“They are, aren’t they?” Ron scoffed, going as far as to shoot a disgusted look at Seamus. Harry was honestly surprised the boy hadn’t blown up yet. He was his usual angry pale colour, after all. Only then it occurred to him that he was likely scared. The rest of their classmates were either glaring at them or staring in bewilderment. Hermione was shaking her head, eyes fixed on one line of her Potions essay, but she made no move to stop them.

“Have you seen how many points they cost Gryffindor?” Davis asked, kicking the floor gently. “I’d never show my face in the common room again.”

Seamus clenched his jaw and took a step forward, but Dean grabbed his forearm and whispered something to him. Seamus snarled and tore himself from his grip, advancing on the group. Neville, of all people, stopped him, extending his arm in front of his chest and glaring him into submission. Then he approached the grinning group and scowled.

“Give it a rest, will you?” He glared specifically at Parkinson who merely smirked at him.

“Come on, Longbottom. Doesn’t it irk you that those tossers lost you any chance you had for the House Cup this year?”

Neville sighed and looked to Harry and Ron for support. Ron just shrugged, unable to keep the amused smile off his face.

“If it were up to me,” Zabini said crossing his arms over his chest, “I’d have suspended them at the least. They are clearly not fit to be here with normal folk.”

“And you are, Death Eater?” Fay shot back venomously, the snarl on her face revealing her teeth. Harry’s heart dropped to his shoes. That’s right. These were Slytherins.

Zabini opened his mouth, but Ron got there first. “I thought You-know-who was dead?” he mocked. “That’s what the Prophet said, isn’t it?”

“You shut up, you filthy traitor!” Fay yelled back, pink spots on her cheeks. The audience was growing. Most of the class had already arrived, only missing a few members – Malfoy among them – and were watching the scene with keen interest. 

“You and that lunatic Potter should just die in a ditch somewhere!” She jabbed her finger at Harry, trying to get a rise out of him.

For the moment – absolutely done with her – Harry disregarded his churning stomach and sneered. “Please, Dunbar, do go on. I might even give you frostbite that matches your brother’s.”

“WHY YOU-”

“Now, what is going on here?” Beltaine interrupted whatever stream of curses she was about to spout.

“Potter’s threatening me!” she snapped instead, pointing her finger at Harry. There was a look of utter loathing in her eyes.

“Mr Potter?” Beltaine turned towards him.

Harry relaxed against the wall. “She called me a lunatic and told me to-and I quote: ‘just die in a ditch somewhere’. I merely asked her to keep her opinions to herself.”

The moment Beltaine frowned and turned away Harry knew he’d won. “This is unacceptable, Miss Dunbar. Five points from Gryffindor and three more for lying to a teacher. Come on in, we’ll wait for your classmates inside.”

***

“This is your own fault,” Hermione told them when they passed another group of younger students throwing terrified looks at Ron and Harry. “You’ve made everything so much worse for yourselves.”

“We know,” Ron gritted out. He glared at another gaggle of Hufflepuff first-years, sending them scurrying in the opposite direction.

Harry rubbed his temples, silently listening to Hermione’s continued berating. The rumours about what had happened in the dungeons had spread like a wildfire. Including the part where he allegedly threatened Dunbar. Which he had, but apparently several witnesses were not enough to convince the professors. That probably had something to do with most of the Gryffindors staying stubbornly quiet on the matter when questioned. He assumed it was Dunbar herself, Seamus and Claverdon who spread that particular news. 

Of course, the... show they had put on with the Slytherins before that was another matter entirely and was fully believed by everyone – extremely twisted as the rumoured version was. Harry would dearly love to know which of his housemates decided to spread it – he suspected Lavender. 

It had started as a mere recounting of what happened over the lunch. Mere two hours later it was a full-fledged horror story about how they bullied Seamus and Dunbar in front of the potions classroom with some junior Death Eaters. From there it fluently evolved into Ron and himself being evil dark lords in training who’d lied their way inside Gryffindor.

“Are you even listening to me, Harry?” Hermione snapped, making Harry look up at her, a sheepish expression on his face.

“Sorry, I was thinking.”

She huffed. “What has got into you there anyway? Why did you have to goad them?”

“I was not goading them, it was just a bit of fun-”

“-Are you sure?” Hermione interrupted him rudely with a glare. “Because it seemed to me like you were showing off in front of the Slytherins.”

“Don’t be ridiculous,” Harry scoffed. “Besides you were right there and I don’t remember you stopping us.”

Hermione spluttered and flushed pink. She sent a dirty look at Ron when he snorted. She was saved from having to respond by the bells announcing the beginning of a lesson. With one last utterly dismayed look in their direction, she hurried down the hall into the Ancient Runes classroom.

Harry and Ron turned away. Done for the lessons for the day and no homework – no pressing homework – Harry found himself with nothing to do.

“Let’s get out for a while,” Ron said, leading the way.

“I want to read that letter,” Harry said mildly as he followed him. Now that it was time to read it, he felt nervous. What had Frank said? Truly, he still hoped it was some sort of a mean joke from Neville. Except Neville would never have made such a joke. He’d stuck up for Seamus of all people. He never stuck up for himself.

One way or another, he did not want it to be true. Him. A lord. It was preposterous. He didn’t want it. Others could deal with all he imagined it entailed. Others who were prepared. Who were raised for it. Neville, Malfoy – because there was no doubt in his mind that Malfoy was some sort of nobility – anyone else. But nothing was ever easy for him, was it? Nothing was ever in his favour. He scoffed bitterly, attracting Ron’s curious look. He just shook his head. After the letter he’d explain himself.

It occurred to him that maybe Ron knew. Knew and had never told him. Perhaps sit had never occurred to him. Like it had never occurred to Neville or anyone else. He forced the thought away. He’d never know for sure what others had thought, there was no point to linger on it.

They made their way down the Grand Staircase onto the first floor and entered the Tapestry Corridor.

“Hello, Luna,” Harry said seeing the girl standing in front of one of the gobelins staring up at the ceiling. He exchanged a brief confused look with Ron.

“Shouldn’t you be in class?” Ron asked.

She turned to them, tilting her head. “Herbology,” she agreed and shrugged. “But the nargles don’t want me to.”

Harry narrowed his eyes. Nargles don’t want her to go to class? Weren’t nargles – whatever they were – also the reason she had no shoes? He glanced at her feet and, sure enough, she was barefoot.

“What are nargles, anyway?” he asked, eyeing her lack of shoes and any bag.

“Little thieves. Mischievous ones,” she sighed. “The Ravenclaw common room is infested with them. They seem to have taken a dislike to me.”

Harry hummed his response, looking up to see what she’d been staring at. There was… something, up there, well out of reach and mostly out of sight. He took out his wand and summoned it.

A leather bag flew down, threatening to smack him in his face as he ducked, grabbing the strap from the air. He glanced between the bag and Luna’s neutral expression. “This wouldn’t happen to be yours, would it?” He handed it to her.

She slung it over her shoulder. “Thanks,” she smiled at him. “I’d better not keep professor Sprout waiting any longer.” She moved to skip past them. Harry exchanged a look with Ron over her head.

“Say, Luna,” Harry stopped her, “does Flitwick know about the nargles in your common room?” He was fairly certain there was no such things as nargles. There were things like bullies, however.

Luna tilted her head. “I don’t think so,” she mused. Then she brightened. “But Lisa and Mandy know. And Cho. And Isobel and Noreen.”

“Maybe you should let him know then,” Ron interrupted her recounting of Ravenclaw girls. “I’m sure he’d want to know.”

Luna shook her head. “There’s no need to bother the professor.” She smiled at them and waved her hand. “Thanks again, Harry. Bye!” With that, she skipped down the hall and out of sight. 

Harry rubbed his temples. “I am beginning to get concerned.” He told Ron, who nodded.

They entered their hiding room. Selwyn slammed the door shut after them and Harry let out an exhausted groan. He sunk into a sofa with an inarticulate sound, dropping his bag on the ground next to him. Ron snickered under his breath and dropped into the other one.

Harry took a moment to compose himself, before straightening up properly and stretching. He pulled out the permission slip from Black and dropped it onto the table for Ron to look over. Then he fished out the letter from under the History textbook. He turned the envelope over and with one last glance at the impression, broke the seal. There was a single sheet of parchment inside. He unfolded it with growing unease and read:

_ Dear Lord Sablewich, _

_ I admit to being surprised upon receiving your letter and its contents, although perhaps I should’ve expected it. The situation you find yourself in is very unfortunate indeed. _

_ While I will not be of much assistance in the matter of politics, out of touch as I am with it, I would be more than happy to provide any explanation, guidance or clarification you may need about other aspects of our obligations. However, I do not believe this to be a conversation fit to be had by written means. I suggest we meet in person to discuss these matters face to face. Perhaps something could be arranged on your next visit to Hogwarts? _

_ Please let me know if this works for you. _

_ Cordially, _

_ Brassfern _

Harry’s stomach churned anxiously. He’d agreed. Somehow this letter had made it all the more real. Suddenly him being a noble was not only a distant possibility, but a pressing terrifying knowledge looming over him. He swallowed dryly, fingers clenching around the parchment subconsciously. Earl of Sablewich. He felt cold all over.

“You alright, mate?” Ron asked him. His voice sounded as if coming from underwater, barely recognizable among to insistent humming in Harry’s ears.

Like in a dream Harry placed the letter on the coffee table and got up, walking over to his desk. He grabbed a spare sheet of parchment and a quill. Dipping it into the ink, he started writing his affirmative response.

“Can I read this?” Ron asked, now leaning against the wall next to his desk, Frank’s letter in hand. Harry hadn’t even noticed him approach. He nodded.

The silence stretched, the only sound being the scratching of Harry’s quill against the parchment. Out the corner of his eye, he saw Ron’s brows furrowing the further he read. He finished his letter and blew on the ink to help it dry faster.

“You didn’t know?” Ron asked quietly. He placed the letter on Harry’s desk. Harry shook his head. “Bloody hell.”

Harry nodded mutely, staring at the response he’d just penned. His hands were shaking. He curled them into fists and leaned on the table. He looked up at his best friend with a rueful smile that did not reach his eyes. Ron reached out and grasped his shoulder in silent support.

Harry looked away with a snort. He straightened up and stuffed the letter into an envelope. “Let’s just send this and then we can hang out by the lake, alright?” he asked, hiding his trembling hands by crossing them over his chest.

“Sure,” Ron agreed quietly.

Harry knew he was being utterly ridiculous. But he had not wanted this. He had not wanted any of this. Boy-Who-Lived. Earl of Sablewich. He would trade it all away without a second thought. But that was not possible. That would never be an option. He’d better get used to it, else this world will eat him alive. He took a deep breath and pushed the door open. He was not a lord. He didn’t know how to be one. But if he had help – Sirius, Frank, his friends,… – hopefully he could fake it well enough to fool everyone.

**Author's Note:**

> I exist and occasionally even post on Tumblr under the name Sharraus. Leave a follow or get in touch if you are on the hellsite.


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